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Photographic 

Sciences 
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23  WIST  MAIN  STRICT 

WUSTBIt, NY.  M580 

(716)  873-4S03 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
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12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

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L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reprodult  grdce  d  la 
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York  University 

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Scott  Library, 
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or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
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la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — »>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED "),  or  the  symbol  Y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  ▼  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  to<>  'arge  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  Illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
film6s  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  6tre 
reprodult  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  filmd  A  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

a 

3 

#     : 

• 

6 

CORLEONE 


-^> 


•The 


'^tr 


M 


CORLEONE 


A    TALE   OF  SICILY 


BY 


F.   IVIARION    OEAWFORD 

Al'THOK   of    •'  aAllACiXKSCA,"    "  riKTlK)   (ImSI.KIlI,"    "  CaSA   BllACCIO," 

ETC.,   ETC. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 


VOL.   II 


Nclu  gorft 
THE   ]\LV(,^MILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILL.^N  .t  CO.,  Ltd. 

1S97 


.1//  ilyhtH  reserved 


<. 


\1 


^^\^ 


^ 


J.  S.  Cusliiii;!;  \  Ci.  -  IJcrwick  &  Smith 
^'orv^•oud  Muss.  U.S.A. 


t 


N-^ 


CorYKiGH'^    1S96, 
By  F.  MAKIOX  CKAWFOKD. 


COULEO^E 


OHAPTEK   XXI 


¥ 


-'. 


^ITTOTMA  d'Ojuaxi    had  very  i'e^v  companions. 
Corona  Saracinesca  really  liked  her,  for  lier  own 
sake,  and  was  soriy  for  her  beeanse  she  belonged 
to  the  family  which  was  so  often  describf  d  as  the 
worst  blood  in   Italy.     Corona  and  San  Giacinto's 
Avife  had  together  presented  the  Corleone  tribe  in 
Koman  society,  but  they  were  both  women  of  mid- 
dle age,  without  daughters   who  might   have  been 
friends  for   Vittoria,.     On   the  other  hand,  though 
the  Komans  had  accei)ted  the  family  on  the  endorse- 
ment, as  it  were,  of  the  whole  Sara,cinesca  family, 
there  was  a  certain  g(uu^i-al  disinclination  to  become 
intinude  with  them,  due  to  the  posthumous  influence 
of  their  dead  nncle,  Corleone  of  evil  fame.      The 
Campodonico  people  were   unwilling  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  them,  even  to  the  gentle  and  chari- 
table Donna   Francesca,  who  had   been  a  Jk'accio, 
and  nuglit  therefore,  [)erha])s,  have  be(ui  expected  to 
condone  a  great  m;iny  shortconungs  in  other  fam- 
ilies.    l?ietro  (Ihisleri,  who  generally  spent  the  win- 


VOL.  II. 


1 


Z  con  LEONE 

ter  in  Koiuo,  ri'fii^-^  1  to  know  tlu^  (TOriaiii,  for  ])oor 
(lend  lUiuica  (\)rl(M)iio's  sake;  and  liis  Kni^disli  wife, 
"svho  knew  tlic  old  story,  tbou.n'bt  lie  was  riglit. 
The  givat  majority  of  the  Romans  received  them, 
however,  very  mneh  as  they  would  have  received 
forei,^•ners  who  had  what  is  called  a  ri.^ht  to  be  in 
society,  with  civility,  Ijut  not  with  enthusiasm. 

Vittoria  luul,  therefore,  met  many  Roman  girls 
of  her  own  age  during  the  spring,  but  had  not 
become  intimate  with  any  of  them.  It  was  natural 
that  when  her  brother  nuule  the  acquaintance  of 
ISIrs.  and  ]\Iiss  Slayback,  and  when  the  young 
American  took  what  is  usually  described  in  appall- 
ing English  as  a  violent  fancy  to  Vittoria,  the 
latter  should  feel  that  sort  of  gratitude  which 
sometimes  expands  into  friendship. 

They  saw  much  of  each  other.  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  they  had  not  an  idea  in  common,  and 
it  would  have  ])een  very  surprising  if  they  had. 
]^ut  on  the  other  hand  they  had  that  sort  of  com- 
munity of  feeling  which  is  a  better  foundation  for 
intimacy  than  a  similarity  of  ideas. 

jVIiss  Lizzie  Slayback  was  not  i)rofound,  but  she 
was  g(unnne.  She  had  no  inherited  tendency  to 
feel  profound  emotions  nor  to  get  into  tragic  situa- 
tions, but  she  was  full  of  innocent  sentiment.  Tjike 
many  i)ersons  who  do  not  lead  ronuintic  lives, 
slie  was  in  love  with  romance,  and  she  Ixdieved 
that  romance   had  a   sort    of    per[)etual   existence 


# 


COHLKONh: 


3 


soiiK^vlid'o,  so  tliai  l)y  takiii.i;'  soiuo  piiiiis  one 
could  reiiUy  iiiid  it  aiul  livo  in  it.  \U^v  fortune 
woukl  1)(^  useful  in  tin;  sejurli,  nlthou.n'k  it  was 
unroniantie  to  l)e  ricli.  She  liail  not  lead  '  ^lonte- 
cristo,'  l)tH',iiuse  she  was  told  that  Dumas  was  old- 
fa^slnoncd.  She  was  not  very  gifted,  but  she  was 
very  eh^ver  in  detail.  She  did  not  understand 
Tebaldo  in  the  least,  for  she  was  no  judge  of 
human  nature,  but  she  knew^  perfectly  veil  how 
to  keep  him  at  arm's  length  initil  she  had  decided 
to  nmrry  him.  She  was  absolutely  innocent,  yet 
she  had  also  the  most  absolute  assurance,  and  boi-e 
herself  in  society  with  the  independence  of  a  mar- 
ried woman  of  thirty. 

""  It  is  our  custom  in  my  country,"  she  said  to 
Vittoria,  who  was  sometimes  startled  by  her  friend's 
indifference  to  the  smaller  conventionalities. 

The  two  young  girls  spoke  French  together,  and 
understood  each  otlnn-,  though  a  third  person  nught 
not  at  first  have  known  that  they  w^ere  sjieaking 
the  same  language..  Vittoria  spoke  the  French  of  an 
Italian  convent,  old-fashioned,  stilted,  pronounced 
with  the  rolling  southern  accent  which  only  her 
beautiful  voice  could  make  bearable,  and  nujre  or 
less  wild  as  to  geiidei'.  Lizzie  Slayback,  as  has  been 
sa,id,  spoke  fluently  and  often  said  the  same  things 
because  sh(>  had  a,  small  choice  of  language.  Occa- 
sionallv  she  used  phrases  that  ^  ould  have  nuide  a 
Frenchman's  hair  feel  uneasy  on  his  head,  and  her 


COIiLKoyE 


iiiiuK'eiit  use  ol'  wliich  iiis[)ir(Ml  disijuictiiiL;-  douhts 
its  lo  the  |)iL'\i(ius  t'xisleiKH'  ui'  lli«'  person  who  Imd 
tau^U'lit  luM'. 

'•  W't'  thiidv."  she  said,  '•  tluit  it  is  bettor  to  t'lijoy 
yourself  wliile  vou  ;ire  vouiil;".  and  he  siood  when 
you  mrow  old,  hut  in  Kurope  it  seems  to  he  the 
other  way," 

"No  one  ean  he  jj^ood  all  the  tiiiu',"'  answered 
Vittoria.  "One  is  good  a-  little  and  one  is  had  a 
little,  hy  tui'us,  just  as  one  ean." 

'"That  nud'.i's  a  variety,"  said  ^liss  Shiyhaek. 
'•  That  is  why  vou  Italians  are  so  ronumtic." 

"'  1  nev(U'  ean  understand  what  you  mean  hy 
ronnnitie,*"  ohserved   \'ittoria. 

'•(>li  —  ev(U'ythin,i4'  you  do  is  romantic,  my  dear. 
Your  brother  is  tlie  most  ronm.nti(*  man  I  ever  saw. 
That  is  why  I  thiidv  1  shall  marr}'  him,"  she  added, 
as  thoui!,h  eontemplatin!^'  a  new  hat  with  a  vi(!W 
to  luivinsj:  it.  and  ahnost  sure  that  it  would  suit 
her. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  will  he  hai)py  with  him," 
said  N'ittoria.  rather  timidly. 

'"  IJeeause  he  is  ronuuitie,  and  I  am  not  ?  Well, 
I  am  not  sur(\" 

^' There  I  You  use  the  word  again!  What  in 
the   world  (h)  you  mean  hy  it?" 

Miss  SlayV)aek  was  at  ;l  loss  to  fui'nish  the  re- 
quired detinition,  especially  in  French. 

"  Your    brother    is    rcjuutntic,"   she;    said,   repeat- 


CORLKOXE 


iiiL;-  hrrself.  '•  L  :im  .sur(3  he  looks  like  Ccesar 
Ixii'L^ia. 

•'  1  liopc  not  I ''  ('xclaiiiu'd  \'itt(n"iii.  "Surely  you 
would  not   uuirry  — '"   she  sto})ped. 

''  Caisai'  i)oi'giu  '/  '"  eu([uii*ed  Lizzie  Slayback, 
caliuly.  "Of  all  people,  1  should  have  liked 
t")  marry  Idni  !  He  was  nice  and  wieked.  Ife 
woidd  never  liavi'  been  (hdl,  even  nowadays,  when 
everybody   is  so  })roper,  you  know." 

''No,"  laui^hed  the  Italian  t;irl,  "I  do  not  think 
anybody  would  have  called  liini  dull.  He  gener- 
ally murdered  his  friends  before  they  were  bored 
by  ids  company."' 

Miss  Lizzi(^  laughed,  for  Vittoria  seemed  witty 
to  her, 

"  If  I  had  said  that  at  a  party,"  she  answered, 
"everybody  would  have  told  me  that  I  was  so 
(dever !  I  wish  I  ha.d  thought  of  it.  iMay  I  say  it, 
as  il"  it  were  mine?     Shall  you  iu:>t  mind?" 

"  Why  should  I  '/  I  should  certainly  not  say  it 
myselp,  l)efore  people." 

-Why  not?" 

"It  would  not  be  thought  exactly  —  oh  —  what 
shall  I  say  ?  \\^'  young  girls  are  never  expected 
to  say  anything  like  that.  AVe  look  down,  and 
hold  our  tongues." 

"And  think  of  all  the  sharp  things  you  will  say 
when  you  are  iiiarriiul  I  That  is  just  the  difference. 
NoWj  in  the  West,  where  I  come  from,  if  a  girl  has 


6 


CORLEONE 


anythiiip^  clovr-  to  say,  she  says  it,  oven  if  slio  is 
only  ten  year.v  v  id.  I  must  say,  it  seems  to  me 
much   more  sensible/' 

"  Yes  —  but  there  are  other  things,  besides  being 
sensibh\"  ol)jeeted  \'ittoria. 

''  Then  they  must  l»e  senseless,"  retorted  ^liss 
Lizzie.     "  It  follows." 

'•  There  are  all  sorts  of  customs  and  traditions 
in  society  that  have  not  very  much  sense  i)erha|)s, 
Init  we  are  all  used  to  them,  and  should  feel  un- 
comiorta])le  without  them.  When  the  nuns  taught 
me  to  do  this,  or  that,  to  say  certain  things,  ami 
not  to  sav  certain  other  things,  it  was  beciiuse  all 
the  other  yonng  girls  I  should  nu>et  would  ])e  sure 
to  act  in  just  the  s;uue  way,  and  if  I  did  not  act  as 
thev   do,    I   should  make  mvself  cnns])icu()us." 

'*  I  ni'ver  could  see  the  hiUiu  in  being  c(>ns|»ic- 
uous,"  said  Miss  Slav])ack.  ''  ProN'ith'd  one  is  not 
vuli-'ar,"  she  added,  bv   waN'  (tf  limitiilion. 

'*■  Do  you  not  feel  uncomfortable,  when  you  feud 
that  everyone  is  looking  at  you'.'" 

'•  ^''  ,  of  coui'S(i  not,  uidess  I  am  doing  something 
ridiculous.  1  rather  liki^  to  have  [K'ople  look  at. 
me.      Tl':it  makes  me  feid  satisiied   with   mystdf." 

"it  alwavs  nmkes  me  feel  dreadfully  uncom- 
fortable,"  said   N'ittoria. 

'Ht  should   not,  for  you  are  bi'autiful,  my  dear. 


\ 


ou   reallv  ai'( 


1   only   tliiid;    I    am,  when   1    have; 
^•ood  clothes  and  am  not  sunburid.  or  anything  like 


con  LEONE 


tliat  —  T  never  I'eally  lu'lieve  it,  you  know.  But 
when  people  admire  nie,  it  helps  the  illusion.  I 
wish  1   were  beautiful,  like  you,   V'ittoria." 

"I  am  not  ])eau''t'ul/'  said  the  Sicilian  g-irl, 
(colouring  a  little  shyly.  "But  I  wish  I  had  }  our 
ealmness.  \  am  always  i)lushiu<jf  —  it  is  so  uneom- 
t'ortable — or  else  I  am  very  pale,  and  then  I  feel 
eold,  as  thou.L,di  my  heart  were  goini(  to  stop  beat- 
inj^".  T  think  I  should  faint  if  I  were  to  do  the 
thin^rs  vou  sometimes  do." 

'•What,  for  instance?"  laughed  the  American 
girl. 

"Oh — I  have  seen  you  cross  a  ballroom  alone, 
and  drive  alone   in  an  open   carriage  — " 

"  Whai  could  ha|)[)(ui  to  me  in  a,  carriage?" 

"It  is  m)t  tluit  —  it  is — 1  hardly  know  I  It  is 
like  a  nuirried  woiuan.'' 

"I  shall  ])e  married  some  d;iy,  so  1  may  as  well 
get  into  the  habit  of  it,"  o])served  Miss  Lizzie, 
smiling  and  showing  lier  beautiful  ieeta. 

in  si)ite  oi'  such  incoiu*lusive  conversations,  the 
two  girls  wei'c  really  fond  of  each  other.  When 
JMrs.  Slayback  looked  at  Tebaldo's  sharp  features, 
her  heart  hardened;  but  when  she  looked  at  \'it" 
toria,  it  softened  again.  She  was  a,  veiy  intelligent 
wonuin,  in  luu*  way,  and,  having  origin.ally  nuirried 
tor  his  money  a  nuiu  whom  slu^  considcriHl  beneath 
h(M'  in  social  standing  and  cultivation,  she  Avished 
to  improve  his  Family  iu  her  own  and  her  friends' 


8 


COIiLEOXE 


eyes  by  niakin*;-  ji  hrilliant  f()i'ei<,ni  marriage  for 
liis  ni(H'e.  'Princess  ot  (V)i'le()ne'  sounded  a  good 
deal  better  than  '  Miss  Lizzit^  Slayback.'  and  there 
was  no  (U'uying  the  anti(i[uity  and  validity  of  the 
title.  There  were  few  to  be  had  as  good  as  tliat, 
for  tlie  girl's  religion  Avas  a  terril)ie  ol)staele  to  her 
marrying  the  heir  of  any  great  hous(^  in  Europe  in 
which  money  was  not  a  paramount  necessity.  F>ut 
Tehaldo  assured  her  that  lie  attached  no  impoi'- 
tance  whatever  to  such  mattcM's.  T^iz/ie  was  in  love 
with  him,  and.  he  took  pains  to  seem  to  be  in  love 
with  her. 

^frs.  Slay  back  did  not  giv(^  more  weight  to  her 
niece's  inclinations  and  fancies  than  Tebaldo  gave 
to  his  religious  sci'uples.  The  girl  was  highly  ini- 
])r(^ssionable  to  a  vcit  small  (h'pth,  skin  dee[),  in 
fact,  [ind  Ixdow  the  shallow  ga.uge  of  her  impres- 
sions she  suddenly  becanu^  hard  aiul  obstinate  like 
her  unch'.  She  had  an  unfortunate  way  of  liking 
])eo})le  very  much  at  first  siglit  if  she  riianced  to 
meet  them  when  she  was  in  a  good  humour,  and 
(pnte  regardless  of  what  they  might  really  be. 
She  had  said  to  herself  that  Tebaldo  was  '  roman- 
tic.*  and  as  his  life  liitlnu'to  might  cei'l-ainly  have 
been  well  described  by  some  such  word,  he  had  no 
ditliculty  in  krepiuo-  up  the  illusion  for  her. 

He  saw  th.it  she  listened  with  wonder  and  de- 
lighl  to  his  lilies  ol'  wild  doings  in  Sicily,  and  he 
had  not  the  slightest  diilicully  in  linding  as  numy 


CORLEONE 


9 


I 


■f 


of  them  to  toll  hor  as  suited  bis  purpose.  He  liad 
])een  more  intimately  connected  \i'ith  one  or  two  of 
his  stories  than  he  chose  to  tell  her;  but  he  was 
ready  at  turning  a  ditliculty  of  that  sort,  and  when 
he  introduced  himself  he  treated  his  own  person- 
ality and  actions  with  that  artistic  modesty  which 
lea,ves  vague  l)eauties  to  the  imagiiuition.  Never 
having  had  any  actual  expei-ience  of  the  rude  deeds 
of  unbridhnl  humanity,  Miss  Lizzie  liked  revenge- 
ful ])eo])l(3  l)ecause  they  were  '^romantic'  She  liked 
to  think  of  a  man  who  could  carry  oft'  his  enemy's 
bride  in  the  grey  dawn  of  her  wedding  day,  escape 
with  luu-  on  board  a  shi]),  and  be  out  of  sight  of 
land  beCore  night  —  because  such  deeds  were  'ro- 
mantic.' She  liked  to  know  that  a  band  of  thirty 
desjierate  men  could  bid  defiance  to  the  government 
[ind  the  army  for  mouths,  and  she  loved  to  hear  of 
Leone,  the  outlaw  chief,  who  h;ul  killed  a,  dozen 
soldi<'rs  with  his  own  hand  in  twenty  minutes,  be- 
fore he  fell  with  twenty-seven  bullets  in  him  — 
that  was  indeed  '  roiimntic.'  Arid  Tebaldo  ha,d 
seen  li(M)ue  himselF,  many  years  ago,  and  remem- 
b(M'ed  him  and  descrilx'd  him  ;  [ind  he  hrd  seen 
most  of  the  peoph^  whose  extraordinary  adventures 
he  detailed  to  tlie  girl,  and  had  known  them  and 
S])oken  with  them,  had  shot  with  them  for  wagers, 
had  drunk  old  wine  of  VAwa.  at  their  weddings,  and 
h;id  roUoweii  some  of  them  to  their  graves  when 
they    had   been    killed.      A    good    many   of   his   ac- 


10 


con LEONE 


quaiiiiniuH's  luul  been  killed  in  various  '  ronuuitic ' 
att'alrs. 

Evevvlliing  he  told  lier  appealed  stroiii;ly  to 
Lizzie  Slaybaek's  imagination,  and  he  had  the  ad- 
vantage, if  it  were  one,  of  being  really  a  great  deal 
like  the  people  he  described,  daring,  unseruj)ulous, 
pbysieally  brave  and  revengeful,  very  much  the 
type  which  is  so  often  spoken  of  in  Calabria  with 
bated  breath,  as  '  a  desperate  man  of  Sicily.'  For 
the  Italian  of  the  mainland  is  ai)t  both  to  dread 
and  respect  the  stronger  man  of  the  islands. 

In  addition  to  his  accomi)lishments  as  a  story- 
teller, Tebaldo  possessed  the  power  of  seeming  to 
be  very  nuich  in  love,  without  (>ver  saying  much 
about  it.  He  flattered  the  girl,  telling  her  that  she 
was  beautiful  and  witty  and  charming,  and  every- 
thing else  which  she  wished  to  be;  and  when  his 
eyelids  were  not  drooping  at  the  cornei's  as  they 
did  when  he  was  angry,  he  had  a  way  of  gazing 
"with  intense  a,n(l  meaning  directness  into  Lizzie 
Slavbark's  dark-lilue  eves,  so  that  Vittoria,  would 
no  longer  ha,V(^  envied  her,  for  shi^  blushed  and 
looki'd  away,  half  ])leased  and  half  distui'bed. 

Aliandr;i  liasili  thought  Francesco  muidi  nu)re 
ready  and  apt  to  a.nti('i])ate  luu'  small  wishes  and 
to  understand  her  thoughts  than  his  brother.  l>ut 
when  he  chosen  to  take  the  troubh',  with  cool  cal- 
culation, Tebaldo  knew  well  enough  how  to  make 
a  woman  believe  that  he  was  takiig  care  of  lier, 


I 


COJiLEONE 


11 


wliicli  is  wliat  many  woiihmi  most  wish  to  feel. 
With  Aliaiulra.,  wliom  he  h)ve(l  as  much  as  he  was 
cai>al)k^  of  h)viii,^  anyone,  Tebahlo  felt  himself 
almost  too  much  at  his  ease  to  dis<^'uise  his  own 
selfishness.  Uiit  he  gave  himself  endless  trouble 
for  Miss  Slayhaek,  and  she  was  sometimes  touelied 
})y  little  acts  of  his  which  showed  how  constantly 
she  was  in  his  mind — as  indeed  she  was,  much 
more  than  slie  knew. 

In  hei'  moments  of  solitude,  which  were  few,  for 
she  hated  to  be  alone,  she  reflected  more  than  once 
that  hei'  money  iiiust  seem  a  ijfreat  inducement  to  a 
])oor  Italian  nobleman;  but  slu^  was  too  much  in 
love  with  the  'romantic'  to  believe  that  Tebahlo 
wished  to  marry  her  solely  for  her  fortune.  It 
was  too  hai'd  to  believe,  when  she  looked  at  her 
own  face  in  the  mirror  ami  saw  how  young,  and 
])i'etty,  and  smiling  she  I'cally  was.  Her  dark 
lashi^s  gave  her  blue  ey^'s  so  much  (Expression  that 
she  couhl  not  think  hei-self  not  loved,  a  nuu'c  en- 
ciunbrancc^  to  be  taken  with  a.  fortune,  but  not 
without,  in  excliange  for  a  title.  She  was  fond 
of  her  rehned  but  not  vei'y  remarkable  self,  and 
it  would  have  been  hard  to  convince  her  that 
Tid)ahlo's  sih^nt  looks  and  ever-ready  siu'vice  meant 
nothing  but  grtHMl  of  mon(\y.  Very  possibly,  she 
admitted,  lu^  could  not  have  thought  of  nnirrying 
her  if  she  had  bc^en  ])0()r,  but  she  believed  it  e(iually 
certain   thid,  if  she  had  been  an  ugly,  rich,  mid(Ue- 


12 


COULEONE 


aged  old  maid,  lie  would 
either. 


never  have  thought  of  it 


Besid 


OS,  Tebaldo  had  watched  with  i^^eat  satis- 


faction th( 


»  ()" 


rowing  intimacy  between  her  and  1 


lis 


sister,  and  he  took  c 


ii 


Vitt 


■e  to  ])lay  his  comedy  befon 


ona  as  carefully  as  before  Miss  Slayback  1 


self.     Vittoria,  as  he  ki 


lier- 


unv,  was  very  truthful,  and 


il"  lier  friiMid  asked  questions  about  him,  she  would 
re[)eat  accurately  what  he  had  said  in  1 


if  si 


ler  presence, 


le  gave  any  information  at  all.     To  his  f; 


ice. 


Vittoria    accused    1 


lini    of    wishing    to    marry    f 


or 


money,  but  so  long  as  he   affirmed  that  he  loved 


]\riss   Slayback,  Vitt 


behind  his  back, 
which    miiilit    in 


oria  would   uever   accuse  him 


nor  tell  tales  about  his  character 
i,ure    his    ])rospects.       Though    he 


knew  that  she  rarely  believed  1 


lim  and  never  trusted 


1 


nni. 


he  1 


cnew  that  he  could  trust  1 


icr.     ^riiat  fact 


alone  might  have  sufficiently  defined  th 
tive  characters. 


eir  re  spec 


CHAT'I'KK    XXTI 


Tebaldo  had  not  ])eeii  at  all  willing  to  believe 
that  Aliaudra  liasili  really  meant  to  treat  liini 
differently  after  the  meeting  in  which  she  had 
defined  lier  position  so  clearly,  bnt  he  soon  dis- 
covered that  she  was  in  earnest.  She  was  not  a 
person  to  change  her  mind  easily,  and  she  had 
decided  that  it  was  time  to  end  the  situation  in 
one  way  or  the  other.  Tebaldo  must  either  marry 
her,  or  cease  to  persecute  her  with  liis  attentions. 
In  the  l;di,<M'  case  she  intended  to  marry  Francesco. 

Like  most  successful  singers,  and,  indeed,  like 
most  ])eoph'  who  siicceed  ]*emarkal)ly  in  any  career, 
she  ])ossessed  the  extraordinary  energy  which  ulti- 
mately makes  the  ditfereiice  between  success  and 
f;ulur(^  in  all  struggles  for  pretuninence.  Many 
have  the  necessary  talent  and  tlie  other  necessary 
gifts ;  few  have,  l.'csides  these  things,  the  restless, 
untiring  force  to  use  them  at  all  times  to  the  ex- 
trenu^  limit  of  ])Ossibility.  People  who  have  the 
I'cquisite  facility  but  not  the  indispensable  energy 
find  it  so  hard  to  rinilize  this  fact  that  they  have 
inverted  our  nnxlcrii  use  of  the  word  \geuius  '  to 
account  for  their  own   failures.     The  ancients,  and 


14 


COliLKONE 


ovon  the  iiunlia'vals,  wlicii  bcatcMi  in  a  fail'  fii^'lit  by 
iiuni  moro  oiiiluriiiL;'  than  lluMusclvos,  \ve\'(^  always 
reaJy  to  account  {'or  their  (h'l'oat  on  tho  j^'i'ound  of 
a  suptn-natural  intervention  a^'ainst  them.  Sinii- 
hii'ly  the  |»eoj)h^  who  are  eh'ver  eiiougli  to  sneeeed, 
iiowaiUivs.  hut  not  strons^'  enoUL;li,  nor  patient 
enouLi'h,  attrildite  to  the  man  who  surpasses  tliem 
some  scn-t  of  supernatural  inspiration,  which  they 
call  genius,  and  against  which  they  tell  themselves 
that  it  is  useless  to  striv(\  Socrates  called  his 
acute  sense  of  right  and  wi'ong  his  familiar  spirit, 
his  da'mon;  but  in  tliose  days  of  the  supremacy  of 
the  greatest  art  the  world  has  ever  seen,  or  ev(M' 
will  set\  at  a  time  when  most  peo[)le  still  believed 
in  oracles,  no  on(^  (n-er  attributed  anv  such  familiar 
spirit  to  So})ho(des,  to  Viaxiteles,  nor  to  Zeuxis, 
nor  to  any  other  poets,  sculptors,  or  [)ainters.  The 
^Fuses  had  become  mere  names  even  then,  and  the 
storii's  about  them  were  but  superstitious  fables. 

TJiat  restless  (Miergy  was  j)art  of  the  Sicilian 
singer's  nateve.  Whether  her  other  gifts  were 
great  enough  for  greatness  remtiined  to  be  seen, 
and  the  (piestion  had  nothing  to  do  with  ''re])aldo 
Pagliuca.  Her  singing  gav(>,  him  pleasure,  but  it 
was  not  what  (diietly  attracted  him.  He  was  in 
love  with  her  in  a  commonphic(^  and  by  no  means 
elevated  way.  and  ai'tistic  satisfaction  did  not  enter 
into  jiis  passion  as  a  component  factor.  There  was 
notliin'j;  so  elevated  about  it. 


• 


COnLEOXK 


15 


Aliaudni's  vrTv  woiiiauly  luituro  made  lier 
vaguely  aware  ot"  this,  ami  slie  had  a  physical 
siisi)i('iui^  so  to  say,  that  if  Teljahh)  ever  lost  liis 
head,  he  would  he  uiuch  uujre  violiMit  thau  his 
hi'otiier,  who  had  frighteued  her  so  l)adly  one 
evening  at  the  theatre.  She  was  inclined  to  think 
that  it  would  not  be  safe  to  irritate  Tebaldo  too 
much ;  yet  she  was  sure  that  it  was  of  no  use  to 
prolong  the  present  ambiguous  situation,  in  which 
she  Avas  practically  accejjtinj.,  and  authorizing  the 
love  of  a  man  wdio  would  not  nnirry  her  if  he  could 
help  it. 

After  she  had  finally  told  him  what  she  meant 
to  do,  nothing  could  move  her,  and  she  entircdy 
refused  to  see  him  alone.  Hitherto  she-  had  used 
her  privilege  as  an  artist  in  this  res])ect,  and  had 
often  sent  away  her  worthy  aunt,  tlie  Signora 
r)arbuzzi,  during  his  visits.  Tint  now,  when  he 
came,  the  blaek-l)rowed,  grey -haired,  thin-li])ped 
old  woman  kc[)t  lier  place  beside  her  niece  on 
the  little  green  sofa  of  the  little  hired  drawing- 
room,  her  withered  lingers  steadily  knitting  black 
silk  stockings.  This  was  her  only  accomplishment, 
but  it  was  an  unusual  oue,  and  she  was  very  i)roud 
of  it,  and  of  her  wouderful  eyes,  which  never 
needed  glasses,  and  could  count  the  minute  black 
stitches  even  when  tlie  light  Avas  beginning  to  fail 
on  a  winter's  al'ternoon. 


Then   Tebaldo   sat    uncuisily  on    his    (duur 


an( 


16 


COULEONE 


"ft 


wished  the  old  woman  iiii^iit  fall  dead  in  an 
a[)oplexy,  and  iliat  he  had  the  evil  eye,  and  by 
mere  wishing  could  bi'iny  h'  i*  to  destruction.  And 
Aliandra  hnined  lnu-k  in  tlie  other  corner  of  the 
sofa,  behind  her  aunt,  and  smiled  coolly  at  what 
Tebaldo  said,  and  answered  indifferently,  and 
looked  at  her  nails  critically  but  wearily  when  he 
said  nothing,  as  if  she  wished  he  wouhl  go  away. 
Ami  he  generally  went  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour, 
unable  to  bear  the  situation  much  longer  than  that, 
after  he  had  discovered  that  the  Signora  Barbuzzi 
was  in  future  always  to  sit  through  his  visits. 

'VAnd  now,  my  daughter,"  said  the  aunt  one  day 
when  he  had  just  gone,  "the  other  will  come  in  a 
(juarter  of  an  hour.  The  sun  sets,  the  moon  rises, 
as  we  say." 

\\'hich  invarial)ly  happened.  Francesco  did  not 
like  being  caught  with  Aliandra  by  his  brother, 
as  has  been  already  seen.  He  had,  therefore,  hit 
upon  the  simple  plan  of  spying  ui)on  him,  follow- 
ing him  at  a  distance  nntil  he  entered  Aliandra's 
house,  and  then  sitting  in  a  little  third-rate  cafe 
op})osite  luitil  he  came  out.  Tebaldo,  who  was  ex- 
tremely particular  al)Out  the  places  he  frecpiented, 
because  he  wished  to  behave  altogether  like  a 
Koman  gentleman,  would  never  have  entered  any 
such  place  as  Francesco  made  use  of  for  his  own 
purposes.  Francesco  knew  that,  and  felt  per- 
fectly safe  as   he   sat  at   his  little  marble  table, 


con  LEONE 


17 


in  an 
ind  by 
.  And 
of  the 
t  wluit 
Y,  and 
lien  he 

I  away. 

II  liour, 
/ii  tliat, 
tirbuzzi 

i 

5. 

lie  day 
lie  in  a 
1  rises, 

[id  not 

roMier, 

>i'e,  hit 

follow- 

mdra's 

;e  cafe 

ras  ex- 

lented, 

like    a 

d  any 

IS  own 

per- 

table, 


witli  a  ij^lass  of  syrup  and  soda  water,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  big  front  duor  wlii(di  he  eouhl  see 
tlirough  tli(5  N.indow  from  tlie  phiee  he  reguhirly 
occupied.  IFe  was  also  (juite  sure  tliat,  as  Tebaldo 
liad  always  just  left  the  house  when  he  himself 
came,  there  was  no  danger  of  his  elder  brother's 
sudden  a[)[)earance. 

The  Signora  IJarbuzzi  was  decidedly  much  more 
civilized  than  her  brother,  the  notary  of  Kandazzo, 
for  she  had  been  married  to  a  notary  of  ^lessina, 
which  meant  that  she  had  lived  in  much  higher 
social  surroundings.  That,  at  least,  was  her  opin- 
ion, and  Aliandra  was  too  wise  to  dispute  with.  her. 
She  had  given  the  deceased  l^arbuzzi  ikj  children, 
and  in  return  for  her  discretion  lie  had  left  her 
a  comfortable  little  income.  Notaries  are  apt  to 
marry  the  sisters  and  daughters  of  other  notaries, 
and  to  associate  with  men  of  their  own  profession, 
for  they  generally  have  but  little  confidence  in  per- 
sons of  other  o(;cu})ations.  The  Signora  liarbuzzi 
might  have  been  a  notary  herself,  for  she  had  the 
avidity  of  mind,  the  distrustfulness,  the  caution 
about  details,  and  the  supernormal  acuteness  about 
the  intentions  of  other  people  which  are  the  old- 
fashioned  Italian  notary's  predominant  character- 
istics.    She  looked  like  one,  too. 

'•For  mv   Dart,  mv  dauirhter,"   she  said  to  her 


'y  P 


niece,   shaking  her  head  twice  towards  the   same 
side,  as  some  old  women  frecpiently  do  when  they 

VO]..   II. — c 


18 


con  LEONE 


are  kiiittiiiij:  a  sto('ki^L,^  ''for  my  j^art,  I  should 
send  them  hutli  away  tor  the  pr.'seiit.  They  will 
not  many,  for  they  havt^  no  money.  AVho  marries 
without  money  ?  1  see  that  you  earn  a.  great  deal, 
hut  not  a  fortune.  If  you  should  nuirry  lebaldo 
or  Franeeseo,  and  if  you  should  not  earn  the  fort- 

« 

une  you  expeet,  you  would  find  yourself  badly  off. 
But  if  you  ean  earn  ten  times,  twenty  times  what 
you  have  earned  this  winter  during  the  next  four 
or  five  years,  then  you  ean  marry  either  of  them, 
beeause  they  will  want  your  money  as  well  as 
vourself.'' 

Aliandra  said  nothing  for  some  minutes,  for 
she  saw  the  truth  of  her  aunt's  adviee.  On  the 
other  hand,  she  was  young  and  felt  (juite  sure  of 
suceess,  and  she  did  not  feel  sure  that  sonu^  unex- 
l)eeted  turn  of  fortune  might  not  suddenly  bring 
about  an  advantageous  nuirriage  for  one  of  the 
two  men. 

"  1  am  not  the  Tatti,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  I 
am  not  the  Alelba.  I  am  only  the  little  liasili  yet, 
but  I  have  a  remarkable  voice  and  I  ean  work  —  " 

"  Voices  are  treacherous,''  observed  the  cautious 
old  woman.  ''  Tli^y  sometimes  break  down.  Then 
you  will  only  be  the  daughter  of  IJasili  the  notary 


again 


5? 


'•  My  voice  will  not  breidv  down,"  answered  Alian- 
dra, confidently.  '•  It  is  a  natural  voice,  and  I  never 
nudvc  any  effort.     My  nuister  says  it  is  the  voices 


m 


I 


con  LEONE 


19 


as 


•Ulir 


lOUS 

'hen 
ary 

ian- 

i>VOi' 

►ices 


whk'h  are  iiioomploto  at  first  and  havf  to  be 
(l(^vel()])(Ml  to  e<|ualiz('  tlu'iii,  wliicli  break  down 
soiiietinies." 

*•  \'()U  may  have  an  illness,"  sn,u:jj^este(l  the  Sig- 
nora  liarbuzzi.     "Then  vou  may  lose  yonr  voiee." 

t^  C'  ».' 

•'Why  should  I  have  an  illness?     I  am  strung." 

The  handsonn'  girl  leaned  back  on  tlie  sofa  and 
raising  her  arms  elasped  her  hands  behind  her 
head,  resting  them  against  the  wall  —  a  splendidly 
vital  tigure. 

"  We  are  mortal,"  observed  the  old  woman, 
sententionsly.  '•  When  God  pleases  to  send  ns  a 
fever,  goodbve  voice  I  " 

^'  Ha,ve  1  some  sin  on  my  sonl  that  Heaven  shonld 
send  me  [i  fever?"  asked  Aliandra,  rather  indig- 
nantly.    "  What  have  1  done  ?  '' 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  my  danght(M' !  NA'ho  accnses 
yon  ?  \'on  are  an  angel,  yon  are  a  crystal,  yon 
are  a  little  saint.  I  have  said  nothing.  But  a 
fever  is  a  fever  for  saints  and  sinners." 

'' i  am  not  going  to  have  a  fever,  and  I  am  not 
going  to  lose  my  voice.  I  shall  make  a  groat 
re])utation  and  earn  a  great  deal  of  money." 

''Heaven  send  it  von  thus!"  answered  the 
Signora   lUirbnzzi,  devoi-^lv. 

'"  Ihit  I  shall  make  Tebal  lo  jealous  of  Francesco, 
so  that  he  will  not  be  able  to  see  out  of  his  eyes 
for  jealousy.  Then  he  will  marry  nu\  Ihit  if  not, 
I  will  marry  the  other,  whom  I  like  better." 


20 


CORLEOXE 


^'Indeed,  jeiiloiisy  is  a  weapon,  my  dear.  A  bad 
mule  needs  a  good  stick,  as  they  say.  J)iit  for  my 
part,  1  am  a  notary's  daughter,  the  \vi(h)\v  of  a 
notary  —  may  the  Lord  preserve  1dm  in  glory!  — 
and  the  sister  of  a  notary.  1  am  out  of  plaee  as 
the  aunt  of  an  artist.  AVitli  us  we  have  akvays  said, 
who  lea\'es  the  old  road  to  take  the  new,  knows 
"what  he  leaves  but  not  what  he  shall  tind.  That 
is  a  good  proverb.  lUit  your  life  is  on  a  new 
road.  You  may  find  fortune,  but  no  one  knows. 
At  least,  you  have  bread,  if  you  fail,  and  you  risk 
nothing,  if  you  remain  a.  good  girl." 

"  So  far  as  that  goes  I  "  Aliandra  laughed  scorn- 
fully.    ''  My  he;ul  will  not  turn  easily." 

"Tluxnk  Heaven,  no.  There  is  tin;  other  one," 
added  the  old  wonum,  as  she  heard  the  door-bell 
ring.  *'  Shall  I  leave  you  alone  with  him,  my 
daughter  ?  " 

"Whv  should  vou?"  asked  Aliandra,  indi(fer- 
entlv.     ''  What  have  1  to  sav  to  him?" 

She  was  perhaps  not  quite  as  indifferent  as  she 
seemed,  for  Francesco  atti'actiMl  her.  On  the  other 
hand,  slie  did  not  wish  to  be  attracted  by  idm 
so  long  as  there  was  a  (dumce  of  marrying  the 
other  l)rother,  and  h(M'  aunt's  presence  was  a  sort 
of  i)recaution  against  an  im[)ri)bable  l)ut  vaguely 
possible  folly  which  she  distinguished  in  the  future. 

On    his   i)art,    Francesco  always  did    his   best   to 


nud 


vC 


f, 


IV 


ourahle     impression    <mi    tlu^    Signora 


til 


con  LEONE 


21 


I") 


my 


liiirbuzzi,  considcriii!^'  \wv  fri..^ii(lslii])  indispensa- 
ble. He  fancied  that  it  must  be  ti  (•om[)arii- 
tive]y  easy  tiling  to  i)lease  an  old  cluiperon  who 
ii'ut  little  attentiun  tiom  anxone,  and  lie  used  to 
bring  her  ])un(iu>s  of  violets  from  time  to  time, 
whieh  he  presented  with  a  well-turned  speech. 
He  might  as  well  have  offei'ed  a,  nosegay  to  the 
deceased  IJarbuzzi  himself,  for  all  the  impression 
he  [irodiiccd  by  his  civilities  to  the  Imrd-headed, 
masculine  old   wonmn. 

![e  was  not  discouraged,  however,  and  though 
\\Q  wished  her  anywhere  but  where  she  was,  he 
bore  her  presence;  with  e(pinnimity  and  made  him- 
self as  agreeable  as  he  could.  IFe  was  far  too 
sharp-sighted  himself  not  to  see  what  Aliandra 
was  doing,  but  Ik;  had  no  means  of  acting  upon 
her  feelings  as  she  was  trying  to  act  upon  'Vv- 
baldo's,  and  he  had  the  low  sort  of  philosojihy 
which  often  belongs  to  sensual  [X'ople,  and  which 
is  ])erhaps  not  much  higher  tluin  the  patience  of 
the  cat  that  crouches  bef'  r<'  the  mouse's  hole, 
waiting  I'or  its  victim  to  run  into  dang«n'.  He 
was  no  match,  however,  for  the  two  women,  and 
he  very  much  overestimated  the  atlra-ction  he 
exercised   upon    Aliandra. 

It  was,  in  a  niaiimu-,  a  sort  of  disturbing  iuHuence 
rather  tlum  an  attraction,  and  Aliandra,  avoided  it 
until  she  was  I'orccd  to  I'eel  il,  and  when  she  fidt 
it,  she  I'cared  it.      \'et  she  liked  liiiii;,  and  was  sur- 


M 


I 


:i 


;  1 
1 


t\\ 


22 


CORLEONE 


prised  at  the  contradietioii,  and  distrusted  herself 
ill  a  ueiieral  wav.  She  was  not  much  L>iveu  to  self- 
exaiuiuation,  and  would  piobahly  uot  have  under- 
stood what  the  word  meant;  hut,  like  a  young  wild 
aninud,  she  was  at  oue(>  aware  of  the  presence  of 
danger,  and  was  tempted  towards  the  eause  of  it, 
while  her  keen  natural  instinct  of  self-preservation 
niaih'  her  draw  back  cauliously  whenever  the  te]n[)- 
tation  to  advance  was  particulai-ly  strong. 

This  was  tlie  situation  of  Aliandra  with  regard 
to  the  two  brothers  respectively.  Her  interest  hiy 
Avith  the  onts  her  inclination,  so  far  as  it  was  one, 
with  the  other,  and  slu:  distrusted  l)oth  in  dilferent 
ways,  fearing  the  oue  that  was  a  coward,  ])ut  dis- 
trusting more  the  one  who  was  the  braver  and  more 
manly  of  the  two,  but  also  incomparably  tlie  more 
dei'eitt'ul. 

They,  (»n  tlu'ir  ]Kirt,  wei't^  l)oth  in  love  with  her, 
and  not  in  very  ditfcrcnt  ways;  but  tlu)Ugh  Tel)aldo 
was  the  bohh'r  in  charactei*,  lie  was  tlu^  oiu',  more 
able  to  be  cautious  whtu'c  a  wouian  was  concerned, 
while  lie  was  also  capable  of  jealousy  to  a  degree 
inconceivable  to  Francesco. 


ClIAPTKll   XXIII 


The  world  would  jj^o  very  well,  l)iit  for  the 
unforeseen.  The  fate  of  everyone  in  this  story 
ini^ht  have  been  very  different  if  (iesualda,  old 
l^asili's  nuiid  of  all  work,  had  not  stop[)ed  to  eat 
an  orange  surre})titiously  while  she  was  sweeping 
down  the  stone  stairs  early  in  the  morning,  before 
the  notary  was  dresseih  Slie  was  an  ugly  girl,  and 
had  not  many  pleasures  in  life;  liasili  was  old  and 
stingy  and  fault-finding,  and  she  had  to  do  all  the 
work  of  the,  house,  —  the  scrubbing,  the  cooking, 
the  serving,  the  washing,  and  the  nuuuling. 

She  (lid  it  very  well ;  in  tht^  iirst  plact;  because 
she  was  strong,  secondly  because  she  was  willing 
and  sutliciently  skilful,  and  lastly  because  she  was 
very  unusually  ugly,  and  therefore  had  no  dis- 
tractions in  tlui  sluipe  of  love-making.  She  was 
also  scrupulously  honest  and  extrenudy  careful  not 
to  wastt^  things  in  the  kitchen.  Uut  fruit  was  lier 
wea.kness,  and,  being  a,  Sicilian,  she  might  have 
been  capable  ol'  comnntting  a  crinu'  for  the  sake 
of  an  orange,  or  a  bunch  of  graj)es,  or  a,  (h)zen  little 
figs,  if  tliey  had  not  been  so  plentiful  that  one  could 

always  have  what  om?  I'ould  eat  for  the  mere  usk- 

2i\ 


24 


CORLEONK 


-i 


iiig.  Her  only  shortconiini;',  tlitM'c^foro,  was  tluit 
she  could  n<'t  coiitiiK^  litTsell:'  to  eating  lier  oranjj^es 
ill  the  kitciKMi.  She  always  had  one  in  her  pocket. 
A  cynical  ohl  lady  once  said  that  tin;  only  way  to 
deal  with  temptation  was  to  yield  to  it  at  once, 
and  save  onesidf  all  further  annoyance,  (lesualda 
yielded  to  the  temptation  to  eat  the  or;inL;"e  slu^  had 
in  her  pocket,  when  she  h;ul  resisted  it  just  lon;^' 
enou^'h  to  luake  the  yielding;-  a  positive  delin'ht.  Slu; 
felt  the  oraiiL^'e  throu,u,'h  her  skirt,  she  imai^ined  how 
it  looked,  she  thought  how  delicious  it  would  be, 
and  her  lips  were  dry  for  it,  and  her  soul  longed 
for  it.  There  was  always  a  (piii^t  corner  at  hand, 
for  the  notary  lived  alone.  In  an  instant  the 
orange  was  in  her  hands,  her  coarse  lingers  took 
the  peel  olf  in  four  pieces  with  astonishing  skill, 
the  said  peel  disa[)[)eare(l  temporarily  into  the 
pocket  again,  and  a  moment  lat(U'  she   was  hapi)y. 

Her  whole  part  in  this  hisiory  consisted  in  the 
eating  of  a,  single  oi-ange  on  the  dark  stone  stairs, 
yet  it  was  an  im})ortant  one,  for  out  of  all  the 
thousands  oF  oranges  she  had  eaten  during  her 
life,  that  ])articular  oiu^  was  destined  to  be  the 
Hrst  link  in  a  long  and  tragic  chain  of  circum- 
stances. 

WlietluM-  the  orange  was  not  quite  I'ipe,  so  that 
the  peel  did  not  come  away  !is  easily  as  usual,  or 
whether  she  was  made  a,  lilt  hi  niu-vous  by  the  i'act 
that   her   mastei-   nnght   be   expected   to  appear   at 


A* 


COnLEOSE 


25 


lilt 

or 

;i('l; 

at 


any  moiiiopt,  a  Jiu't  wliii-li  cnliaiu't'd  the  delight 
of  tiio  iiiisih'ed,  luMther  she  herself  nor  anyone 
else  will  ever  know.  As  iisuiU,  she  ran  her  sharp, 
strong  thumb-nail  twiee  round  the  fi'uit,  erosswise, 
dug  her  lingers  into  the  crossing  cuts  thus  nuule, 
and  strii)})('d  the  peel  oif  in  a  twiidvling,  thiaisting 
the  Four  diy  piccc^s  into  her  [)oeket.  And  as  usual, 
in  another  nioiiient,  she  was  ])('rt'ectly,  blissfully 
ha,ppy,  for  it  was  a,  blood-orange,  and  ])artieul;vrly 
sweet  and  juicy,  having  no  pips,  for  it  had  grown 
on  a  very  e>ld  ti'ce.  and  those  are  the  best,  as  every- 
one knows  in  the  oi'ange  country  of  the  south. 

I)Ut  fate  tore  off  a  tiny  fragment  of  the  peel,  a 
]uere  corner  of  one  stri}),  thick,  and  the  shiny  side 
ui)wards,  all  slip[)eiy'  with  its  aronuitic  oil,  and 
placed  it  cunidngly  just  on  the  edge  of  one  of  the 
Avornold  slone  steeps,  above  her  in  tlu^  d;i,rk  turning. 
Then  fate  went  away,  and  waited  ([uietly  to  see 
what  should  happen,  and  (iesualda  also  went  aw[i.y, 
dovvii  to  her  kitchen,  to  begin  and  pre[)are  the 
vegetables  whicli  she  had  bought  at  daybreak  of 
the  vendor,  a  little  way  down  tlu'  street.  Tlu^  bit 
of  peel  lay  ([uite  ([ui(*tly  in  the  dark,  (h>ing  as  fate 
hail  bidden  it,  and  Availing  likew'ise. 

Now,  fate  ha,d  reckoned  exactly  how  miiny  paces 
IJasili  the  notarv  would  take  from  his  i-oom  to  tlie 
]u\id  of  the  staii's,  in  ord(M'  to  know  with  which 
foot  he  would  take  the  tii'st  stej)  downwards,  a.nd 
iKMice  to  calculate  whelher  the  bit  of  pe(d  should 


ri 


o 


lilj 


CORLEOyE 


■1 ; 


i  ^i ' 


1)0  a  little  to  the  ri!4-lit  or  a  little  to  the  left.  And 
it  lay  a  litth^  to  the  left;  for  tlie  left  foot,  as  fate 
is  awai'e,  is  tlie  unlucky  foot,  excejtt  for  left-handed 
people.  r>asili  was  a.  rinht-handed  man;  and  as 
he  eanu!  downstairs  in  his  great,  Happing  leathern 
slippers,  he  i)ut  the  smoothest  s[)ot  of  the  old  sole 
exactly  u])on  tlie  shiny  hit  oL'  [)eel.  All  of  which 
shows  th(^  astonishing  accuracy  which  fate  can 
hring  to  hear  at  ini[»ortant  moments.  That  was 
the  heginning  of  the  end  of  this  history. 

Hasili  fell,  of  course,  ami,  as  it  seenu'd  to  him, 
he  fell  hac'kwiirds,  forwards,  sideways,  and  npside 
down,  all  in  a  mouuuit;  and  when  he  came  to  the 
Itottoui  of  the  stairs,  he  had  a  broken  leg.  It  was 
not  a  had  hrejdv,  though  any  broken  leg  is  bad, 
and  the  government  surgeon  was  at  home,  l)ecanse 
it  was  early  in  the  moi'uing,  and  came  [ind  set  it 
very  well,  and  I>asili  lay  in  a  sunny  I'oom,  with 
])ots  of  carnations  in  the  window,  drinking  syrup 
of  tamarind  with  water,  to  cool  his  blood,  and  very 
much  disturbed  in  his  nnnd.  (Jesualda  sat  on  the 
ste])s  all  the  morning,  moainng  and  beating  her 
breast,  for  she  had  found  the  little  piec(^  of  orange- 
])eel.  groping  in  the  dark,  and  she  knew  thaf  it 
had  all  been  her  fault.  I'or  jxMiitence,  she  made 
a  vow.  at  tii'st,  not-  to  eat  an  orange  till  tlu^  mast(4' 
was  recovered.  Latcu-  in  the  day,  she  went  to  con- 
fession, in  order  to  ease  her  sold  of  its  l)Ui'den, 
und  she  told  her  confessor  that  she  could  not  })os- 


-:((! 


'f 


con LEONE 


27 


111(0- 


it  it 
lade 
ster 
•oii- 
Icu, 

)( )S- 


si])ly  kopj)  the  ^()^\^  and  thai:,  slu;  liad  alroady  twice 
uiuleri^oiie  lioi'ril)lo  temptatiuii  since  the  accident, 
at  tlie  nicre  sii^ht  of  an  oran^'e.  Thereupon  the 
confessor,  who  was  a  Avise  little  old  man,  coni- 
niuted  her  self-imposed  p(^uance  to  al)stinen>!e  from 
cheese,  which  she  si'rupulonsly  jjractised  for  a 
wlioh^  month  aft(M'\vards,  until  the  notary  was  on 
his  feet  for  tlie  lirst  time.  Ihit  by  that  time  a 
(;-reat  many  Ihini^s  ha.d  ha[)j>eiu'd. 

Hasili  lay  in  his  sunny  room,  tindin<^'  it  difficult 
to  undiu'stand  exactly  what  had  ha[)pened  to  liim. 
lie  had  ne\'er  Ikhmi  ill  in  his  life,  excepting  once 
when  he  had  taken  a  little  fever,  as  a  mere  boy. 
He  was  a.  tough  uuui,  not  so  old  as  he  looked,  and 
h(^  luul  mn'ev  thought  it  ])ossil)le  that  he  could  be 
laid  (jn  his  back  and  made  perfectly  helpless  for 
a.  whole  month,  lie  had  ground  his  teeth  while 
tlu^N'  had  been  s<dting  his  leg,  but  in  spite  of  the 
})aiii  he  had  been  thiidving  chiefly  of  the  check  to 
his  Itusiuess  which  must  be  the  inevitable  result 
of  such  a  long  eonliiuuneut.  lie  had  a  shabby 
iittle  clerk  w  ho  copied  foi'  him,  and  was  not  alto- 
gethei-  slu})i(l,  but  he  ti'ustcd  no  one  with  \\\(' 
affairs  of  his  clients,  and  he  w;is  ii  very  important 
person  in  Kauda/./o.  Moreover,  a  young  notary 
litMu  ('atania  had  recently  established  himself  in 
oj»position   1()  him,  aiul   he  feared  the  competition. 

He    was    very    lonely,   too,    foi'    the    clerk,   after 
presenting  his  comk)lences,   had   seized  the  op[)or- 


'N 


,  ,1 


28 


VOliLEOyE 


tiiiiity  of  liikiii!;-  11  liolidav,  and  tluM'c  was  ikjIkhIj 
bii^-  (Jesiuildii  in  the  lious''.  In  tlic  iit'icrnoon  slie 
got  her  mollu'i'  to  take  hci-  jjlacc  wliih^  she  went 
to  contVtssiou.  U.isili  was  very  lonely  indeed,  foi- 
tlu^  doctoi'  would  not  let  liini  receive  his  (di(Mits 
who  eanie  on  ])iisiness,  fearinL!,'  tevci'  tor  his  patient. 
The  da.y  seemed  very  lon^'.  Ih^  called  tor  piiper 
and  ])en,  ;ind  in  spite  of  the  sui'L;'eon's  prohibition^ 
he  had  himself  ])ropped  up  in  bed,  and  wrote  a 
letter  to  his  dau.L;hter.  He  told  her  of  his  accident, 
and  beu'i^cd  her  to  come  to  him,  if  she  could  do  so 
■without  injuring  the  course  of  study  she  had 
luidertaken. 

Time  was  ])recious  to  Aliandra,  for  her  master 
generally  left  Konu^  at  the  end  id'  dune,  and  she 
had  only  learned  about  half  of  A'ida,  the  opera 
she  had  lunh^rtaken  to  study,  and  which  was  a 
necessary  one  for  her  future  career.  Ihit  she  made 
up  her  mind  at  once  to  go  to  her  father,  for  a 
fortiught,  after  which  time,  in  the  (U'dinary  course 
of  things,  he  would  probably  be  able  to  spare  lier. 
She  was  vcrv  b)nd  of  him,  for  her  mother  ha.d 
died  when  slu^  had  been  very  young,  and  liasili 
luxd  loved  the  (diild  with  the  grim  tenderness  pecul- 
iar to  certain  stern  cluiracters ;  and  afterwards, 
Avhen  once  [)ersuaded  that  she  had  both  voice  and 
talent  for  the  stage,  he  had  gem  vously  helped  her 
in  every  way  he  could. 

lie  had  missed  her  terribly,  for  she  had  not  been 


-  ii« 


CO  l!  LEONE 


29 


in  Sicily  since  {]\o  provious  [iiitAir.in,  and  it  was 
natnral  that  he  sliouhl  send  tdi'  hei-  to  keep  him 
(.'onip.nny  diiriii.^'  his  reeuverv.  She,  on  lier  part, 
looked  i'orward  with  })hnisnre  to  a  tastc^  of  the  old 
siin[)le  ('xisteiu'e  in  whicli  she  had  been  so  happy 
as  a  child.  She  left  lier  maid  in  IJome,  and  her 
aunt  sto])})ed  in  Messina,  iidending  to  come  up  to 
llandazzo  a  few  days  later  and  pay  her  brother  a 
visit. 

Before  leaving  Home  Aliandra.  told  l)oth  Tebaldo 
and  Francesco  where  she  was  going,  ami  that  she 
intended  to  return  in  a  fortnight  in  order  to  study 
with  her  teachei'  until  he  should  leave  Rome. 
She  maintained  her  attitude  of  coldness  towards 
Tebaldo  to  the  last.  He  conr[)lained  of  it.  For 
once,  the  Signora,  Harbuzzi  had  left  the  room  un- 
biddim,  judging,  no  doubt,  tha.t  before  going  away 
for  sonu;  time  Aliandra  ndght  wish  to  see  Tel)aldo 
alone,  and  i)ossibly  have  sonu^  further  explanation 
Avith  him. 

''  Look  her(\"  lie  said  roughly,  '"'you  have  treated 
me  in  this  way  long  enough,  and  I  have  borne  it 
(|uietly.      iJe  reasonable  —  " 

''That  is  exactly  what  T  am,"  answered  Aliandra. 
"It  is  you  who  are  unreasonable." 

•^^  Because  I  love  you,  you  say  that  I  am  unrea- 
sonable!" he  retorted,  his  j)iitience  giving  way  sud- 
'lenly.  "  IJecause  you  burn  nu'  —  bah!  find  words! 
J  cannot.     (Jive  me  your  hand!  " 


" 


30  COliLKONE 


''Onlv  ill  oiK^  w;iv.      1  li;ive  told  you 


(Jivi'  lilt'  your 


liaiid. 


il 


I'  caiiu'  (|iii 


tc  el 


ose  to 


her. 

She  held  her  hands   Ixdund    her  Jiiid   looked  at 
liim  deliantly,  her  head  hinh,  her  eyes  cold. 

It  vou   want   my   hand  —  von    mnst   keep    it, 


ik 


11 


sl 


le  sa 


id. 


She  was  very  handsome  jnst  thcMi,  and  his  heart 


beat  faster.  There  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice 
when  he  sjjoke  as^'aiii.  and  his  tiiiL;ers  shook  as  he 
laid  them  lightly  on  her  shonlder,  barely  toiudi- 
ing  her.  There  is  a  most  timder  vibration  in  any 
gennine  passion  nmhi-  control,  just  before  it  breaks 
ont.  Aliandra  saw  it,  but  she  (bstrnsted  him,  and 
belie v(h1  that  he  might  be  acting. 

"  I  cannot  bear  this  much  longer,"  he  said.  "It 
is  killing  me."' 

"There  is  no  reason  why  it  should,"  she  an- 
swer^nl  coldlv.  "  Von  know  what  yon  have  to  do. 
1  will  marry  you  whenever  you  jjlease."' 

He  Avas  silent.  The  vision  of  Miss  Lizzie  Slay- 
back  with  her  millions,  and  with  all  his  own 
future,  rose  before  him.  Tie  seennnl  to  see  it  all 
l)eliin(l  the  handsome  head,  on  the  ngly  Howered 
paper  of  the  walK  That  stake  was  too  heavy, 
and  he  could  not  afford  to  risk  it.  Yet,  as  he 
met  Aliandra's  hard  eyes  and  cruidly  set  month, 
her  resistance  roused  him  as  nothing  ever  had 
before^ 


%#; 


('OH  LEONE 


31 


it," 


-It 

aii- 
(lo. 


red 


lie 

ith, 

ad 


.1 


'' Yuu  Iiesitiito  still,"  slio  said  scornfully.  "I 
do  not   think  your  lovo  will  kill  you." 

'•  ^^)nrs  for  nic  will  not  hurt  you,  at  all  events," 
lie  iinswcrtMl  i-udcly. 

'•Mine?  (.)h--you  may  think  of  that  as  you 
])le[ise." 

She  shrn.Li^.u'eil  lun-  shoulders  like  a  woman  of  the 
l>eo])le,  and  turned  from  him  indifferently;  leaving 
him  standing  near  the  door,  gi'owing  pale  b}'  quick 
degi-ees,  till  his  face  was  a  faint  yellow  and  his 
eyes  wove  red. 

"  I  Ix^lieve  you  love  my  brother,"  he  said 
hoarselv,  as  she  nujved  awav- 

She  stop[»ed  and  turned  her  head,  as  she  an- 
swered. 

"•  His  is  l)y  far  the  mor(^  lovable  character,"  she 
said  in  atone  of  contempt,  "I  should  not  blame 
any  woman  tor  preferring  him  to  you." 

"It  will  be  better  for  liim  that  you  should  not 
pi'efer  him.'"  His  face  was  livid  now.  Aliandra 
laughe<l,  and  turned  so  that  she  could  see  him. 

"^  I>ah  !  1  bidicve  you  are  a  coward  after  all.  He 
need  rot  fcai*  you,  I  f:incy." 

"Do  you  r<'ally  think  me  a  coward?"  asked 
Tebaldo,  in  a  low  voice,  and  his  eyes  began  to 
frigid  en    luu'. 

"  ^'ou  behave  like  one,"  she  answered.  "You  are 
afraid  of  the  mere  opinion  of  society.  That  is  the 
rea.son   why  you  hesitate.      Vou   say  you  love  me. 


32 


rORLEOXE 


but  you  roally  love  only  tliat  you  o;ill  your  posi- 


tion. 


'^Xo,"   bo   ans\vtM-('(l,   not    niovin; 


Tl 


uuu'   are 


other  reasons. 


Ami   voii  are  mistaken    aliout   me 


I  am  not  a  coward.  Do  not  say  it  again.  Do  you 
undei'stanil ".' '' 

A.i^'ain  slie  sliruu's^'ed  In'r  shoulders,  as  thous^di  to 
say  that  it  mattered  little  to  her  whether  he  were  a 
coward  or  not.  I>ut  she  did  not  like  the  look  in  his 
eyes,  thoui^-h  she  did  not  bidieve  that  he  would  hurt 
her.  She  had  heard  of  his  occasional  terrible  out- 
breaks of  an!:]^er,  but  had  never  seen  him  in  one  of 
them.  He  was  beL;innin;j,'  to  look  dangvrous  now, 
she  thou^cbt.  She  wondcriMl  whether  sIk^  had  gone 
too  f[ir,  but  retl(H'ted  that,  ad'ter  all,  it  slu^  meant 
to  exas])erate  him  into  a  promise  of  marriage,  slu^ 
must  risk  something. 

""Do  not  make  me  say  it,"  she  replied,  more 
gently  tlian  she  had  spok«ui  yet. 

Few  feminine  retorts  are  more  irritating  than  that 
one.  of  which  most  women  know  the  full  value,  but 
in  sonu^  way  it  acted  upon  Tebahh^  ae  '^  counter- 
irritant  to  his  real   nnger. 

'"Xo,"  snid  Tebaldo.  and  bis  eyidids  suddenly 
drooped,  "you  shall  say  something  else.  As  you 
are  just  going  away,  this  is  hardly  the  moment  to 
fix  a  day  for  our  marriage." 

She  started  slightly  at  tlu^  words,  and  looki^l  at 
him.     His  eves  wei-e  less  red,  and  the  natural  brown 


con  LEONE 


33 


',,  she 


that 
',  but 
iit(U'- 

you 
lit  to 

(1  at 
iowu 


colour  was  ('oiniiij;'  l);u'k  in  his  cheeks.  She  thought 
the  monuMit  of  dau.uer  past. 

"  I  shall  be  back  iu  a  fortni.ij^ht,"  she  answered. 

•'There  will  ])e  tinu'  mough  when  you  come 
back,"  he  said  in  his  usual  tone  of  voice.  ''Pro- 
vided that  you  do  not  change  your  mind  in  the 
meantiiue,-'  he  added,  with  a  tolerable  easy  smile. 
"  Do  not  forget  that  you  love  Francesco."  He 
laughed,  for  he   was  really  a  good  actor. 

She  laughed,  too,  but  uneasily,  more  to  quiet 
herself  than  to  juake  him  think  that  she  was  in  a 
good  humour  again. 

"  I  never  forget  the  })eople  I  love,"  she  said 
lightly. 

Tlieu  with  a  quick  gc^sturo  and  movement,  as 
though  wholly  forgiving  hiui,  she  kissed  her  fingers 
to  hiui.  laughed  agaiu,  and  was  out  of  the  room  in 
a  moment,  leaving  him  where  he  was.  He  stood 
slill  for  three  or  four  seconds,  looking  at  the  door 
through  which  she  had  disa[)i)eared,  longing  for 
her  —  like  a  fool,  as  he  said  to  himself.  Then  he 
went  out. 

It  had  been  a  singular  parting,  he  thought,  and 

if  he  had  not  l)een  at  lu'r  jnercy  by  one  side  of  his 

nature,  he   said   to   hiuiself   that    he   would    never 

have  spokeu  to  such  a  wonum  again.     There  was 

a   frankly    cynical    determination   on    her   })art  to 

marry   hiui.   which   might  have  repelled  any   man, 

and  which,  he  admitted,  i)recluded  all  idea  of  love 
VOL.  n.  — 1> 


34 


COULEONE 


I 


a 


■(;'   ! 

V,    .1 


I:     ! 


on  her  side.  In  sjtite  ol'  it  all,  his  hand  ti'(Mnl)led 
Avh'Mi  he  had  touched  her  sleeve  at  her  shoulder, 
and  he  had  not  been  ([uitc  able  to  control  hi.s  voice. 
In  s}>ite  of  it  all,  too,  he  hated  his  brotlnn*  with  all 
his  heart,  far  more  bittei'ly  than  ever  before,  for 
what  Aliandra  had  said  of  him. 

Somethini,^  more  would  have  happened  on  that 
day,  if  ho  had  known  that  I'ranceseo  was  sitting 
in  the  little  third-i'ate  cafe  o])posite  Aliandra's 
house,  Avail in<4'  to  see  him  come  out.  Mo  would, 
howevei',  have  been  monuMitarily  i'(\issured  had  he 
further  known  that  the  Si^nora  liarbu/zi,  for  dip- 
lonnitic  reasons,  I'eturned  to  the  sittins^'-room  and 
was  present  durin;,;'  the  wh(»h'  of   P'rancesco's  visit. 

Aliandra  left  Kome  tin'  next  nnirning.  She  did 
not  care  to  tire  herself  by  t ravellinij:  veiy  fast,  so 
she  slept  in  Naples,  and  did  not  reach  Iiandazzo 
until  the  third  day,  a  week  after  her  father's  acci- 
dent. 


lay 

sin 

(pn 

w 

slie 

ti<i 

aiM 

kii 

(pia 

a('(| 

W.'l 

kno 

Woi 

'I 


ii  I 


.^ 


CHAJTKR   XXIV 


J 

% 


Ti:nAM)()  felt  ;i  sort  of  relief  when  Aliandra 
was  .^'one.  IIo  missed  lier,  and  lie  loiii^'ed  for  her, 
and  yet,  (^very  time  that  he  tlioiiLi'ht  of  Uzzie  Slay- 
back,  lie  was  i^lad  that  Aliandra.  was  in  Sicily.  He 
felt  more  fri'e.  it  was  easier  to  hear  a  separation 
from  lier  llian  to  he  ever  in  I'car  oi'  her  crossin,^'  tlie 
heii'css's  path.  'I'liat,  indeed,  mi.nlit  have  seemed 
a  remote  danL^cr,  considerini;"  the  dilference  that 
lav  h('tw(M'n  the  lives  of  the  American  I'.irl  ami  the 
sinLiiM'.  Ihit  Miss  Shivback  was  i-estless  am!  m- 
(|uisitiv(*;  she  liked  ot  all  thin.^s  to  meet  |)"o[)h' 
who  were  'somebody'  in  any  d<'})a.rtment  of  art; 
she  had  heard  of  Aliandra,  lUisili  and  of  the  sensa- 
tion her  a))i)ea.ra,nce  had  created  (hiring'  the  winter, 
a.ml  she  was  'juite  capable  of  takini;'  a  fanev  to 
know  her.  Miss  Li/./ie  i^'cnerally  l>epin  her  a,c- 
(piaintance  with  any(»ne  by  ascertaining  who  \}\o, 
accpiaintance's  acipiainta.nces  mi,i;ht  b(\  as  Tebaldo 
well  knew,  and  if  af  any  moment  she  chose*  to 
know  th(*  artist,  it  was  ])robable  that  his  secret 
Would   ])e  out  in  a.   (piai'ter  of  an   houi'. 

Then,  too,  he  saw  that   he   must  i)i'eei[)itat«»  niat- 


^5 


i  I 


36 


CO  II  LEONE 


ters,  for  si)riiii;  was  advancing  into  snninier,  and  if 
his  enu-auonient  were  snddenly  annonnced  while 
Aliandra.  was  in  Rome,  he  believed  that  she  wonld 
very  probably  yo  straight  to  .Miss  Slay  back  and  tell 
her  own  storv,  being,  as  he  conld  see,  determined 
to  marry  him  at  any  cost,  lie  was  therefore  very 
glad  thai,  she  was  gone. 

lint  when  the  honr  cami^  ronnd  at  which  he  had 
been  accnstomed  to  go  and  see  her  every  day,  he 
missed  her  horribly,  and  went  and  shnt  himsidf  np 
in  his  room.  It  was  not  a  sentimentalitv,  I'or  he 
was  inca})able  of  that  weak  bnt  delicate  infnsion 
of  sentiment  and  water  from  whicdi  lln^  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  derives  such  keen  delight.  It  was 
more  like  a  sort  of  ])hysical  possession,  from  whicdi 
he  could  not  escape,  and  during  which  he  wonld 
have  found  it  hard  to  be  decently  civil  to  Miss 
Slayl)ack.  or  indeed  to  any  other  woman.  At  that 
time  his  whole  nnnd  and  senses  wer(^  tilled  with 
Aliandra.  as  tluuigh  she  had  been  bodily  ])i'esent 
in  th<'  room,  and  her  handsome  head  and  vital 
figure  rose  distinctly  in  h'  •.  ey(>s,  till  his  pulse  beat 
fast  in  his  throat,  and  his  lips  wen*  dry. 

I'wo  days  al'ter  Aliamh'a's  departure,  Tebaldo 
was  in  this  state,  jiacing  up  and  down  in  his  room 
and  really  sti'uggling  against  the  intense^  desire  t(> 
drive  instantly  to  ilie  railway  station  a,nd  follow 
Aliandra.  to  Sicily.  Without  a,  knoi-k  th,;  door 
openiHl,  and   iM-aiiceseo  entered. 


CORLKONE 


37 


liicli 
'ould 
Miss 
til  at 
with 

'S(Mlt 

vital 
beat 

l)al(lo 
room 
Ire  t(t 

1)1  low 

door 


"  What  (h)  you  want  ?  "  askod  Tebahio,  almost 
l)i'dtal]y,  as  ho  sto})po(l  in  his  walk. 

"What  is  tho  matter  with  you  ?  "  enquired  the 
other,   in  some  surprise,  at  his  brother's  tone. 

"  ^\'hat  do  you  v.aut,  T  say  V  ''  Tebaldo  tapped 
tlie  floor  impatiently  with  his  foot.  "  Why  do 
you  eome  here  V  " 

'^  Really,  you  seem  to  be  iu  au  extraordinary 
frame  of  mind,- '  observed  Franeesco.  "  I  had  no 
intention  of  disturbing  you.  I  often  come  to  your 
room  —  "' 

''No.  Yo'.i  do  not  eome  often.  Again  —  what 
do  you  want?  Money?  \''ou  generidly  want 
that.  'I'ake  it  —  tlau'e  on  the  table!"  He  ])ointed 
to  a,  little  package  of  the  small  Italian  notes. 

1^'raneeseo  took  two  or  three  and  ])ut  them  care- 
fully into  his  ])ocket-book.  Tebaldo  watched  him, 
hating  him  more  than  usual  for  having  conu^  at 
that  monuMit.  I  Te  hated  the  back  of  his  neck  as 
lM'aiic(^S('o  bent  down;  it  looked  so  smooth  and 
tlu'  short,  ha.ir  was  so  curly  just  above  his  collar, 
lb'  wondei'ed  whether  Aliandra  liked  to  look  at  the 
back  of    l<'ranc(\sco's  neck,  and  his  eyt's  grew  red. 

"So  .\liandra,  has  gone,'"  obs(M'vi'd  l^'i-ancesco, 
carelessly,  as  lu^  returned  the  purse  to  his  pocket 


and   t 


urnei 


1  1 


o  his 


brotl 


ler 


"Have   you    come    her(>    to   t(dl    nu'    so 
'i'ebaldo,  growing  rapidly   angry. 


as 


ked 


( )1      no  I     \'ou    nuist  have   known    it  before  I 


^•1 


38 


CORLEONE 


did.  T  inerolv  made  a  I'omark — wliv  are  you  so 
aiiL-i'V  ?  She  will  roinc  i)ack.  She  will  probably 
conu'  just  wIh'11  you  arc  rmidy  to  marry  Miss 
Shivback."' 

"Will  you  leaver  luy  ai'fairs  to  lue,  and  go?" 
T(,'l)ald()  made  a,  step  forward. 

".My  dear  Tebaldo,  I  wish  you  ^voul(l  not  ])e  so 
furious  about  nothim>'.  I  come,  in  peace,  and  vou 
receive  me  like  a  wild  animak  I  am  anxious  a])out 
your  marriai^e.  It  will  l)e  tlie  salvation  of  our 
faiu'lv,  aud  the  sooucr  vou  can  conchuU^  the  mat- 
ter,  the  bcttt'r  it  will  be  for  all   of  us." 

'•  I  do  not  sec  what  advaiitau'c  vou  are  likely  to 
li'ain  bv  uiv  nuirrian'c."' 

''Think  of  the  position  I  It  is  a  great  advantage 
to  l)c  the  ])rothcr  of  a,  rich   man." 

"•  In  ordci'  to  l)oi'i'ow   moncv  of  him.      I  se(\" 

"Not  necessarily.  II  will  change  our  ])osition 
very  much.  The  dang(M'  is  Ihat  your  friend  Ali- 
andra  may  sjtoil  everytJnng,  if  she  hears  of  Miss 
Slay  back." 

"  I'hther  go,  or  speiik  plainly,"  said  Tebaldo.  be- 
ginning to  walk  up  and  down  in  order  to  control 
th(^  impulse  that  was  driving  him  to  sti-ike  his 
brother. 

I'^ranccsco  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  wi'iting- 
tuble  and  light<'(l   ;i  cigarette. 

'•  It  is  a  pity  that  we  should  be  always  (piarrol- 
ling,"  he  said. 


cohleone 


39 


"  rt"  you  luul  not  come  licrc,  we  should  !iot  have 
(|iiaiTeUe(l  now,"  o])serve(l  'IV'bahh),  thrusting  his 
hands  into  his  poekets,  k'st  tliey  shouhl  (\o  Kran- 
eesco  some  harm. 

'*  We   shoidd   have  (inarreUed  the  next  time  we 


met,"  continued    tlie   hitter, 


We    alwavs   (h).     I 


w 


ish   to   i»ropose  a  peace,  a  coDipi'omise  that  may 


s(^ttle  matt(M"s  for  ever 


n 


"  Wluit  nnitters  ?     Tiiere  are  no  matters  to  settle. 


L<'t  me  alone,  a,nd    1    will  let  you  alone 


?' 


u 


Of    conrse,    you    regally    mean    to    inarry    ]\[iss 


Slayback 


J)o  you,  or  do  you  not 


')  V 


'•What  an  absurd  (piestion  I  It  I  do  not  mean 
to  marry  her,  Avhy  do  you  sup[)Ose  1  waste  my 
time  with  her?  Do  you  imagine  that  I  am  in  love 
with  her?"     ITe  laughed  harshly. 

"  Exactly,"  answere(l  I'^rancesco,  as  though  his 
brother's  (piestion  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  him. 
The  oidy  exphmation  of  your  conduct  is  that  you 
ish  to  marry  tlie  girl  and  g(4.  her  money.  It  is 
very  wise.  \\(  are  all  delighted.  Vittoria  likes 
lier  for  her  own  sake,  and  our  motlier  will  be  very 
ha])py.      it  will  consnlc  her  for  f'erdinando's  death, 


a 


W 


w 


Inch  has  l)e;Mi   a  u'reat  blow  to  her 


-ii 


Well 


WlSlUMl 


to 


Are    you    satisfied?     Is   that   all    you 
Tebaldo  stop]»«Ml  before  him. 


.now 


•>  " 


"  No.      iSot   by   any    lueans.      ^'ou    nun'ry    Miss 

Slayl)aek,  and  you  get  yo>ir  share.      I  want  nunc." 

''And  what  do  you  consider  your  share,  as  you 


1    ! 


ij 


i^ 


n 


40 


COULEONE 


call  it  ?  ''  eiH|uii'0(l  Tebaldo,  ^\\i\\  soiiio  curiosity^  in 
spite  of  Ills  ill  teiu})er. 

''It  docs  not  s(MMii  likely  that  yon  mean  to  marry 
them  both,"  said  h'raiiceseo,  s\vin,L>-ing  one  leg  slowly 
and  blowiiin'  tlie  smoke  towards  the  window\ 

'^P.oth  — whom?" 

"  l)0th  the  Amei'iean  and  Aliandra.  (Vf  conrse, 
yon  eonld  marry  Aliandra  in  ehnreh  and  the  Amer- 
ican  by  a  civil  marriag(\  and  they  might  both  be 
satished,  if  yon  eonld  keep  them  a})art  —  " 

''  What  an  infernal  seoundnd  yon  are/'  observed 
Tebaldo.  slowly. 

''  \a)\\  are  certainly  not  the  proper  person  to 
point  out  my  moral  shortcomings,"  retorted  Fran- 
cesco, coolly.  "  Ihit  T  did  not  sup])ose  that  yon 
meant  to  nnirry  them  both,  and  as  yon  have  very 
Avisely  (hn-idcd  to  take  the  American  girl,  I  really 
think  von  might  leave  Aliandra  to  me.  If  you 
marry  the  one,  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  not 
marry  the  other." 

"  If  I  ever  lind  you  making  love  to  Aliandra 
liasili,''  said  Tebaldo,  with  slow  emphasis,  "I  will 
break  every  bone  in  your  body." 

Ihit  he  still  kept  his  hands  in  his  i)ockets. 
Francesco  laughed,  for  he  did  not  ])elieve  that  he 
was  in  present  bodily  danger.  It  ^\•as  not  the  iirst 
time  that  Tebaldo  had  spoken   in  that  M-ay. 

"  Vou  are  ready  to  (piarrel  again  I  I  am  sure,  I 
am  perfectly  reasonable.      I  wish  to  nnirry  Aliandra 


-  ',ii  :■ 


con LEONE 


41 


J^iasili.  I  liavo  kept  out  of  your  way  in  tliat  direc- 
tion for  a  lon,t^  time.  I  should  not  mention  the 
matter  now,  unless  1  were  sure  that  you  had  nuide 
up  your  mind." 

"And  — "  T(4)ald()  eame  near  to  him,  but  hesi- 
tated. "  And  —  excuse  nu'  —  but  what  reason  have 
you  fm*  sup[)osing  that  Aliandra  will  marry  you?" 

"  That  is  my  affair,"  answered  Francesco,  but  he 
shrank  a  little  and  slii)ped  from  his  seat  on  the 
table  to  his  feet,  Avhen  he  saw  his  brother's 
face. 

"TTow  do  you  mean  that  it  is  your  affair?" 
asked   Tebaldo,  roui^hly.       "  How    do    you    know 

asked  her? 


'.y  y 


y 


)  V 


Has  she  told  you  that  she  loves  you 

Francesco  hesitated  a  moment.  The  temptation 
to  say  that  he  was  loved  by  Aliandra,  merely  for 
tlu^  sake  of  iJ^iving  his  brother  pain,  was  very  great. 
r>ut  so  was  the  danger,  and  that  was  u[)on  him 
already,  for  Tebaldo  mistook  the  meaning  of  his 
hesitation,  and  finally  lost  his  temper. 

His  sinmvy  hands  went  right  at  his  brother's 
throat,  half  strangling  him  in  an  instant,  and  then 
swinging  him  from  side  to  side  on  his  feet  as  a 
terrier  shidccs  a  rat.  U'  Francesco  had  carried 
even  a  [xx'kct  knife,  he  would  have  had  it  out  in 
an  instant,  and  would  have  used  it.  Ihit  he  had 
no  weapon,  and  he  was  no  match  for  Tebaldo  in  a 
fury,     lie  struck  out  fiercely  enough  with  his  fists, 


•  i 


i 

I 

J 

I 

■ll    I 


a     1 


I 


42 


COULKONE 


but  the  otlier's  bands  wt'i'c  iibovo  Lis  own,  and  he 
eoidd  (h)  nothinjj^.  He  coidd  not  even  cry  out,  for 
he  was  halt'  choked,  and  Tebahh)  was  ([uit(^  sihMit 
in  his  raL;e.  TluM-e  wouhl  havc^  l)een  ninr(U'i',  had 
tlierc  been  weapons  within  tlie  reacdi  of  eitlier. 

Wlien  Tel)altlo  tinallv  threw  hir.i  off,  Kraneeseo 
fell  heavily  n[)()n  one  knee  ai^'ainst  the  door,  but 
caught  the  handle  with  one  hand,  and  regained  his 
feet  instantlv- 

'•  Von  shall  pay  nie  yet,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
his  throat  purple.  i)ut  his  face  suddenly  white. 

"  Y(\s.  This  is  only  something  on  account,''  said 
Tebaldo,  with  a  sneer.  ''  \^)u  shall  have  the  rest 
of  the  payment  some  other  tijn(\" 

Ihit  Francesco  was  gone  ])efore  the  last  words 
h;id  passed  his  brother's  lips.  The  door  closed 
behind  him.  and  Tebaldo  heard  his  ([uick  foot- 
sti^ps  outside  as  he  went  olf  in  the  direction  of 
his  own  room. 

The  angry  nuni  gi'ew  cabner  wlnui  he  was  alone, 
])ut  now  a.nd  then,  as  he  walked  u[)  and  down,  and 
backwards  and  forwards,  he  cdenched  his  hands 
spasmodically,  wishing  that  he  still  had  his  brother 
in  his  grip.  Yet,  when  lu^  rcHected,  as  he  began 
to  do  before  h)ng,  upon  what  had  r(^dly  hai)pened, 
he  reaHzed  that  he  had  not,  after  all,  had  nuudi 
reason  for  taking  his  brother  by  the  throat.  It 
was  \\w  hesitation  that  had  nuide  his  temix'r  break 
out.      Ihit  then,  it  might  ha\e  meant  so  much.      In 


I  i! 


COIiLEONE 


43 


and 

lids 

tlicr 

'H'an 

ikmI, 

ucli 

It 


Ins  pr«^s('.nt  state,  tlio  tlioui^lit  tliat  i)oi'liaps  Ali- 
aiidra  loved  Fraiieeseo  was  like  the  bite  of  a  liorse- 
tiy  in  a,  raw  wound,  and  he  quivered  under  it.  lie 
could  not  get  away  from  it.  He  faneied  he  saw 
i*'r;iii('esco  kissing"  Aliandra's  handsome  mouth,  and 
that  her  eyes  smiled,  and  then  her  eyelids  drooped 
with  pleasure.  His  angei*  subsided  a  little,  but  his 
jealousy  grew  monstrously  minute  by  minute,  and 
his  wrath  smouldered  l)eneath  it.  He  remembered 
])ast  days  and  meetings,  and  glances  Aliandra  had 
given  his  brother,  such  as  she  had  never  bestowed 
upon  himself.  She  did  not  love  him,  though  she 
wished  to  marrv  him,  and  was  determined  to  do 
so.  if  it  were  possible.  lUit  it  Hashed  upon  him 
that  she  loved  Francesco,  and  had  loved  him  from 
th(^  hrst.  That  was  not  (piite  the  truth,  though  it 
was  near  it,  and  he  saw  a.  humb-ed  things  in  the 
past  to  [M'ov(^  that  it  was  the  truth  altogether. 

He  was  huimui  enough  to  feel  the  wound  to  his 
vanity,  and  the  slight  cast  upon  him  by  a  com- 
parison in  which  Fi'anci^sco  was  prefiu'red  to  him, 
as  well  as  the  hurt  at  his  heart  which  came  v/itli 
it.  lb'  (lid  not  know  of  l^'rancesco\s  daily  visits, 
but  he  sus])ected  tluuu  and  exaggerated  all  he 
guesscMl.  Doubtless  Francesco  had  seen  her  again 
and  again  a,lou(\  (piite  lately,  while  Tebaldo  had 
been  made  to  (uubire  day  aft(U'  day  the  })resence 
of  Aliandra's  aunt  in  the  room.  Again  the  vv(\- 
lipped   vision  of   a   kiss  Hashe*!   iu    the   shadow  of 


*  I 


44 


con LEONE 


tlie  room,  a  liviii;j^  pictiivo,  and  oiico  more  liis  oyos 
gr^^w  red,  and  his  hands  (donchcd  thtMuselvos  spas- 
modically, (dosini;'  on  nothin.i;'. 

She  had  said  that  she  [)i'el'en'(Hl  Franeeseo.  She 
had  almost  admitted  that  she  loved  him,  and  he 
conld  vemend)er  how  cold  her  eyes  had  been  while 
she  had  been  sayin^^■  it.  There  had  been  another 
light  in  them  for  his  brother,  and  she  had  not  held 
her  hands  behind  her  baek  when  Franeeseo  had 
held  out  his.  Or  else  she  had,  lauLrhiu'jjlv.  And 
then  she  had  pnt  np  her  face,  instead,  for  him  to 
kiss.     Tebahh)  ground  his  teeth. 

Flis  jealousy  got  hold  of  him  in  the  vitals  and 
gnawed  eruidly.  l'!!verything  in  his  own  room 
made  him  think  of  Aliandra,  though  there  was  not 
one  objeet  in  a  score  that  could  ])ossibly  have  any 
association  with  her,  nor  auv  right  to  remind  him 
of  her,  as  he  ti'i<Hl  to  t(dl  himself.  Hut  his  watch, 
lying  on  the  toilet  table,  made  liim  think  of  her 
watcli.  a  pi-etty  little  one  he  had  given  her.  His 
gloves  made  hini  think  of  h(U'  gloves,  his  books 
recalled  hers,  his  verv  chaii's,  as  tliev  chanced  to 
stand  about  the  room,  revived  the  nienu)ry  of  how 
other  chairs  iiad  stood  wIkui  he  had  ])arted  from  her, 
Th(^  infinite  iiettiiu'ss  of  the  details  that  irritated 
him  did  not  shock  his  reason  as  would  have  ha})- 
pened  at  any  other  tiiue.  On  the  contrary,  the 
more  of  theiu  s})rang  up,  the  more  they  stung  him. 
Instead  of  one  gadfly,  there  were  hundreds.     And 


ran  LEONE 


45 


all  the  time  there  was  tlu^  almobt  irresistible  physi- 
cal louj^int;'  to  i^o  to  her,  ami  throw  over  everything 
else.  Me  went  out,  f.>r  he  eoiild  not  bear  his  room 
any  longer. 

It  was  still  hot  in  the  streets  in  the  early  after- 
noon, and  there  was  a  tieree  glare  all  througli  the 
new  part  of  the  city  where  there  were  many  white 
houses  in  straight  rows  along  smoothly  paved 
streets.  Tebaldo  walked  in  the  shade,  and  once 
or  twice  he  took  olf  his  hat  for  a  moment  and  let 
the  dry,  hot  breeze  blow  npon  his  forehead.  The 
strong  light  was  somehow  a  relief  as  he  grew 
accustomed  to  it,  and  his  southern  nature  regained 
its  balance  in  the  penetrating  warmth.  He  walked 
quickly,  not  heeding  his  direction,  as  he  followed 
the  line  of  broad  shade  and  passed  (pdckly  through 
the  blazing  sunshine  that  tilled  the  crossing  of  each 
side  street. 

He  regained  his  normal  state,  and  presently, 
being  (piite  calm,  he  stoi)ped  and  (pdetly  lighted 
a  cigar.  Like  many  men  of  ardent  and  choleric 
tem})erament,  he  neither  smoked  nor  drank  much, 
]tut  there  were  times,  like  the  i)resent,  wdieii  smok- 
ing helped  him  to  .hink  quietly. 

IV'fore  the  cigar  was  half  tinisln^d  he  Avas  at  the 
door  of  the  hotel  at  which  ^Miss  Slaybr.ck  and  her 
aunt  were  staying.  He  was  glad  that  he  had 
decided  to  see  her  on  that  afternoon,  and  he  attrib- 
uted the  good  sense,   as  lu;    would  have  called  it, 


H)  i 


46 


COULEOyE 


a 


) 

, 

' 

l( 

li 

. 

i 

\       1 

; 

■I 

' 

■' 

1 

'I 

li 

I 

'1 

wliirli  luitl  ultinmtply  ItroiiL^lit   liiiii   to  lior  door,  to 
till'  soolliiuLi:  iiitliiciicc  of  tilt'  toluu'co. 

^liss  Sla\l)a('k  was  iilonc  in  tlic  sitliiiL;-rooiu. 
The  Minds  wen'  closed.  Itnt.  the  \vin(h)\vs  were 
0])en,  and  tlu'  warm  hree/e  stin-ed  the  white  enr- 
tiiins.  It  waN  an  ordinary  hotel  sittinL;"-rouin,  like 
liuudreds  of  others,  hut  Miss  Lizzie  had  not  been 
satisfied  with  such  luetliocritv  of  surroundin,L;\s,  mid 
had  taken  iiiuch  |)ains  to  ^'ive  the  room  an  inlial)ited 
h)ok.     She  liad.  of  course,  bouu'ht  several   hundred 


objeets  of  no  particular  vani(>.  as   rudi  women  who 
visit    Rome    for  the  iirst    time   invai'iablv  do.  and 


nios 


t    of    them   were    in    si'jht    in    her   sittin.Li-rooi 


m. 


There  were  ])hotoL;rai)hs  by  the  score,  ])inned  to 
the  \valls  and  standing'  on  tables,  and  lumped 
toL;ether    in    a    corner.       Th«'     i)hotoi;'rai>h    is    tlu^ 


nnresistible  temptation  to  women.  There  were 
thi't'e  (U-  f<»ur  (dever  water-colour  studies  of  men 
and  women  in  costume,  such  as  one  sees  evervwlnu-e 
in  Rome:  tluu-e  were;  ha.lf  ;i  dozen  bronzes  copied, 
in  tile  untinislie(l,  wholesale  manner,  from  tlui 
iuiti(pie;  tluue  was  the  inevitable  old  idioir  book 
of  the  psalms,  v.'ith  the  ohl  musical  notation  that 
is  still  used  for  plain  (diaunt.  written  on  [)ar(dinient 


and  onened  at  the  oa 


fe  w 


liicli   oresented  the  best 


illuminated  ca[)ita,l  letter;  ther(>  were  three  or 
four  ])ieees  of  old  embroidered  vestments,  draped 
over  the  backs  of  cli;nrs.  and  thiu-e  were  sev(M'al 
vases  ('(jntaininjjj  fresh  flowers  and  dry  wild  grasses 


-■ill  fe 


COULEONE 


47 


from  tlic  ( 'aiu|)aL;iia.  And  tlicrc  was  Miss  Lizzie 
S lay  back. 

She  was  ox  cediiiLi'ly  i)i'ottv  in  n  sort  of  noiule- 
S('ri[)t  (li'(^ss,  between  a  tea-j^'owii  and  something 
else;  for  tlioui^h  it  was  adorned  witli  ribbons  and 
laees,  after  tlie  manner  of  tea-i^'owns,  it  was  sliort- 
skirted  when  she  stooii  up.  In  fact,  it  was  '  Ji  little 
creation'  of  her  own,  as  her  dressmaker  would  have 
said,  thereby  diselaiming  all  responsil)ility  for  its 
eecentrieity.  lUit  it  was  distinctly  becoming,  and 
Miss  Lizzie  knew  it. 

There  is  a  great  difference,  morally,  between 
l)eing  vain  and  being  a'sthetically  aware  of  ont^'s 
advantages  and  good  ])oints.  Vanity  is  even  more 
blind  tlian  love,  but  there  is  something  really 
and  healthily  artistic  in  judicious  and  successful 
self-adornment.  Vanitv  paints  its  eves,  and  rouges 
its  cheeks,  and  dyes  its  hair,  and  laces  its  waist 
till  its  ribs  cratd^.  (iood  taste  cuts  its  clothes 
according  to  its  figure  and  its  age,  instead  of 
])iuching  its  body  to  tit  its  clothes.  A'anity  is 
full  of  aftectation ;  good  taste  presents  the  best  it 
has  to  view,  so  far  as  it  can,  arul  hides  what  is 
less  got)d,  without  attempting  to  distort  it,  because 
Avhat  is  not  good  cannot  be  nuide  to  look  good,  by 
torture,  to  eyes  that  understand.  The  vain  woman 
inttu'prets  the  statement  that  she  is  clay,  in  a  literal 
sejise,  and  tries  to  violently  model  her  clay  into  the 
\^3uus  of  her  dreams.     I'he  woman  of  taste  acct^pts 


^if. 


48 


CORLEONE 


tlie  fact  that  she  is  not  a.  i^ixhh'ss  and  makes  the 
best  of  her  luoi'tality  as  she  has  received  it. 

Miss  Slayback  was  Vv'ry  pretty,  and  even  Tebaldo 
Pagli'i<^'ii  admitted  the  fact,  tliousj^li  he  was  not  in 
the  h'.ist  in  h)ve  witli  her.  She  smih^l  and  h)oked 
ten  times  prettier  than   before,  as  lie  entered  t,he 


room. 


My  annt  is  supposed  to  l)e  out,"  she  said,  as  he 


lUit  she  is  in  th(^  next  rooru.     So  it 


IS 


sat  down.     ' 
(piite  i)ro]ier.'' 

She  laughed  a  litth^  at  her  own  speech,  for  she 
was  still  amused  by  iMiropeim  ideas  of  propriety, 
and  she  would  havt;  been  surjjrised  it'  anyone  had 
been  shocked  bv  her  receiviusi'  'rel)aldo  alone,  when 
^[rs.  Slayback  was  really  asleep  in  the  next  room, 
during  th'"  heat  of  the  afternoon.  Tebaldo  smiled 
courteouslv.  leaned  back   a.  little  in  his  small,  h- 


ai 


mchair.    aud    hxed    his    eyes    upon    her    face 


w 


in 


silence.      His  cxpi-ession   might   have   deceived   an 
older  and  a  ^\isei'  woman. 


"1    am    \'er\'    glad   to   tind    you   aloi 


le 


1 


le    sau 


I 


softly,    after   an    emi)hatic    pause   of    admiration. 
'*  Vour  aunt  is  one  of  tlu^  most  charming  women 


in  the  woi 


Id,  of 


cmirse 


but 


''  r>ut  she  is  not,  always  necessary,"  intei'rupted 
Miss  Slayback.  "  Do  you  want  to  see  my  new 
endu'oiderv '.'      1   bought  it  this  morning  —  " 

"  No.  I  do  noti  cai'c  about  your  end)roideries. 
I   caiue  to  se<i   you,  not.   vestnuuits." 


COULEOyE 


49 


"It  is  not  a  vestmeiit.     Tt  is  an  altar  clotli 


J? 


u 


It  is  not  you,  at  all  events,"  said  Tebaldo,  tix- 

Avant   you  and 


1 


iiii^'    his   eyes   upon   nei'   a,i,^ain 


li 


J 


oidy  you  —  to-day,  to-in(jrro\v,  and  forever."     His 
voicte  was  well  modulated. 

jMiss  Lizzie  looktul  down,  thoughtfully,  but  she 
did  not  hlusli.  Tebaldo  leaned  forward  a  little, 
gaziug  earuestly  into  her   faee.       Hut  she  looked 


down  and  said  nothiu.r,  for  she  wished  him  to  si 


ly 


mor(^.  It  was  pleasant  to  hear,  and  though  her 
eyes  were  bent  upon  the  earp'^t,  she  could  really 
see  his  faee  quite  distiuetly. 

"  I  think  you  see  and  uiulerstand  that  I  love  you 
devotedly,'   lu^  said  in  soft  tones. 

It  was  not  easy  for  him,  with  his  ideas,  to  mal:e 
the  statemeut  in  cold  blood,  so  to  say.  Ihit  that 
was  evidently  what  she  expected,  and  he  did  his 
l)est. 


Vou  nnist  have  seen   it,"  he  eontin-'ed. 


^^)u 


luust  have  uuderstood  it.      I  have  tried  to  express 

it  to  you  with  the  luost  profound  respect,  with  that 

rcspecli  which  1  have  i'elt  for  you  froiu  the  first,  and 

shall  alwa.y^,  feel,  aud  wish  to  feel,  foi-  uiy  wife." 

INissibly    Miss   Lizzie,   uot   beiug  a,   Latiu,  would 

have  bceu   williug  to  lieai'  less  about   respect  and 

iiinrc   al)out   love.       Lut   he   uuuuigcd   t-o   uudvc^   his 

tone  couvcy   soiuclhing  of   that^  also.      She    looked 

up,   shiwly    raising  her  loug  black  lashes,  till   her 

ihirk   blue  eves   uu't   his. 
><»i,.  II.     - 1; 


ii 


50 


CORLKOXE 


\'  r 


You  know,"  slu^  said,  with  ;m  odd  mixture  of 


U'tUl 


tlen 


OSS   a 


lid   Avilfulii! 


'SS, 


r  I 


marry   you,  you 


must  always  let  mo  do  exactly   as    I    ))loaso."' 
Tobaldo  had  known  hor  'oul;'  onoui^h  to  bo  ])a.st 


tho  stai^^o  in   whi(di  slu    ooiild   surprise  hi 


h 


iiii. 


The 


('()n('0]>ti()n  of  American  life  whicli  he  had  formed 
from  lu'r  conversrition  was  somewhat  i'antastic. 
'*  Von   would   not  bo  so  frank    it'   you   meant  to 


n 


lisuse   your  liberty,''  ho  answered   wisely. 
"  Do  not  be  so  sure  I  "  launiied  Miss  Li/zio,  gaily. 
r>iit  Tobaldo  wanted  a  more  binding  reply  to  his 


)roiH)^a 


proi 


1. 


l*leas(*  do  not  lau^'h."  he  said. 


our  answer 


—  your  consent  will  transport  nio  to  paradise." 

'•  1  hojx'  not."  ans\vere(l  the  ^-irl,  still  hiughing  a 
little.     '•  I    prefer  you  on  oai'tli,  if   I   am  to  marry 


you. 


^'ou  ar(*  adorable!"  excdaimod   Tobaldo,  under 


standing  that  he  must,  accept  her  jesting  hninoi 


ir 


^ 


OS 


Am  1 


S' 


iO  s 


miled. 


Ihit    you  see  that    I    adore  you,  worship  yi 


)U 


love   vou 


1' 


vorvono  does 


"  I  do  not  want  ever\-on(» 


Ihit 


Uie 


Th 


:i1   is  t  he  (lUi'st  loll. 


I) 


o  you 


M 


<  di,   \('s  I      I     want     vo'i."  she    answero(L   inter- 


j'uptiiig   him. 


n 


ease    let     liie 


think 


S.       t 


I  moment. 


I    am   making  up   my   mind.'' 

Thereupon    Miss    Li/./io   got   up    from    Inu-    s<'af. 
Tel>aldo    rose  also,   woiiduriii'''   wiiat:  slu!   miiiiit    ln^ 


-I 


COR  LEONE 


61 


guiiijjf  to  do  to  liolj)  lier  iiiiiid  in  iiuikiiig  itself  up. 
Ho  i"itlier  oxpected  tliiit  she  meant  to  go  into  tlie 
next  room  to  coiisult  her  aunt  ])efore  giving'  her 
iinal  answer.  Ihit  she  had  no  intention  of  doing 
that.  Sh(^  went  to  the  win(h)w,  and  h)oked  tlirough 
the  shits  of  tlu*  (*h)sed  blinds,  into  tli(^  hot  glare  out- 
side. Teljaldo  remained  standing  close  to  the  chair 
in  which  lu^  had  been  sitting.  As  has  bi^en  said,  she 
c(>;d(l  no  longer  surprise;  hiju,  but  he  watchetl  the 
v/ays  and  manners  of  the  Anuu'ican  young  girl  witli 
interest,  even  while  he  grew  nervous  as  he  thought 
of  \]\('  nuignitiule  of  the  stake  he  hoped  to  win. 


Miss    Lizzie   stayed   sonu>  tii 


nie 


at    tl 


le   w 


ind 


ow 


without  moving.  When  she  suddenly  turned  back 
into  t!ie  room,  and  came  straiglit  up  to  Tebaldo, 
her  ia(H>  was  a  little  paler  than  usual;  but  he 
cotdd  not  se(»  it,  for  tlie  light  was  l>^jhind  lu'r.  Her 
manner  had  (piite  changed  now,  and  she  si)oki'  very 
gravely. 

"  I   have  not  known  you  very  long,  and  you  are 
asking  nu^  to  ])ut  my  whole  life  in  your  hands,"  she 
''  1   like  you  very  much.     I  care  for  vou  so 


M 


said. 

much  that  I  am  going  to  trust  you,  though  I   know 

you  so  litth  .      I  am  going  to  say  yes 

She  hiid  her  hands  in  his  trustfully,  and  looked 
up  into  his  face.  His  lids  half  veile<l  his  ey<'s,  for 
the  triumph  in  his  look  was  not  the  triumph  (tf 
love,  iind  he  knew  it.  No  sanc^  man  is  without 
sohie  good  imi»ulse,  be  lu»  ever  so  baih 


►I      sii  ir 


n 


\ 


i 


52 


COllLEONE 


choi 


*'  I  tluiiik  you  with  all  iiiv  licart,"  lie  said,  wisely 

and  he    j)i'essed   her 


iiiinl 


Ajsuig  simple  words  now 


d: 


hands  ^^'eiitly.  '•  I  shall  try  to  make  you  hap])y," 
he  added. 

It  all  seemed  very  strange  to  her.  I'ossibly 
something-  warned  her  even  then  that  he  was  very 
false,  more  false  than  she  eould  have  understood. 
She  had  expected,  shyly  and  with  a  little  not  (pute 
unpleasant  trepidation,  that  he  would  suddenly 
cateh  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her  a  score  of  times, 
(piickly,  as  no  one  had  ever  kissed  her.  Vet  there 
he  stood,  (luite  calm,  just  pressing  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  as  though  h<^  were  afraid  of  hurting  her, 
and  saying  that  he  meant  to  make  her  happy. 
She  was  disappointed,  though  she  would  not  have 
admitted  tliat  she  was. 

She  little  guessed  that  the  bad  man  had  just 
then  chaneed  to  feel  one  of  the  i'ew  good  im])ulses 
that  ever  disturl)ed  him.  At  that  monuuit  it  would 
iiave  seemed  considerably  worse  t()  him  to  act  as 
slu'   ri'ally   expected  that  he   would   than    it  would 


hav 


e  seeme<l  to  cut   r'raucesco  s  throat  in  his  sle(^,p 


th 


d( 


Mxplain   thosf  things  wlio  can.     Tl 
human  nature,  even  at.  its  worst  :  and  it 


lere    IS   «''ood    ill 


comes 
h 


to  tl 


le 


surl'ace  unexpectedly.      I'^raneeseo,  whose  clmracter 
was  on  the  whole  i'ar  less  evil  and  malev(»huit,  would 


lave 


had 


no  sueh  seriiple 


To  I 


\\\\\  a  woman  was  a 


woiican,   and    nothing    moi'c.       lint,    'rei)aldo    either 
loved  or  did   iKtt  h>ve,  and   tic  woman   he  did  not 


-J 


con LEONE 


5^ 


love  was  not  a  ^volnan  at  all  in  liis  eyes.  And 
since  in  this  case  she  chan(!cd  to  be  an  innocent 
girl,  his  manliness  —  for  he  was  manly  and  physi- 
cally hravc — revolted  at  the  idea  of  offending  her 
innocence. 

An  old-fashioned  theoh\i;"ian  mijj^ht  say  that  a 
man  who  has  no  good  in  him  is  not  jH'operly  lit  to 
1)(*  jlamned.  Hnch  a  man  woidd  liave  no  free-will, 
and  could  not,  t]ierefor<%  logically  ho  punished  for 
anything  he  di<l.  That  was  not  Tel>aldo  Pagliuca's 
case,  at  all  events. 

^liss  Lizzie  stood  still  a  moment,  looking  np  to 
his  face,  after  he  had  spoken ;  then  she  drew  away 
her  hands,  and  sat  down  again,  feeling  rather  shy, 
tor  the  first  time  sinc'e  she  had  been  a  child.  It 
seemed  strange  that  it  should  all  be  over,  an  1  that 
she  was   to   be    married.     Tel)aldo   be.L''an   a   little 


)eech 


"  \'ou  have  maih^  m<'  V(M-y  ha])]>y,"  he  said;  and 
he  loi'nu'd  a  uundHU'  of  fairly  well  turned  phrases, 
iu  which  to  express  his  satisfaction,  which  was 
genuine,  and   his  affection,  which  was   not. 

She  did  not  hear  him,  for  her  own  thoughts 
sccnicd  louder  than  his  snu)othly  spoken  words. 
She  was  happy,  aud  yet  sh(»  was  uncomfortable,  in 
au  uudcliued  way,  and  did  not  know  what  was  tlie 
nuittcr.  lie*  did  not  seem  to  exjxH't  any  n^sponse 
just  then,  and  slu»  let  him  talk  on.  Thcu  she  was 
aware  that  he  was  repeating  a  (pu-stion. 


54  CORLEONK 


"]\ray   T   announce    our   onp^agonient  ? "   lie  Avas 

I  ti 


askinu',  for  the  sm-ond  tinu 


Of  course!"  slie  exclaimed,  suddenly  realizin 


(r 


til 


1'    ll 


e  sense  or   lus  words 


lb 


It   is  not  a  tliinur  to  1 


)e 


concealed.     I  will  tell  niv  aunt  at  once.     You  must 


conu'  an 


d  see  her  tins  eveninu' 


no,  we  are  iioin*; 


somewhere  —  1    for«->et    wlnu'e  !      C'ome    to-morrow. 


1,1, 


ase 


'•And    when 


? "'  Il(^  ]»ur|)OS(dy  left  the  sen- 
tence inc(»m|)lete.  tillin,i;'  the  (luestion  with  one  of 
the  Ioul;'  looks  he  had  employi'd  so  often  with  such 


SUCCl'SS. 


"When  Avhat  ?     Oh  I     You  mean,  when  shall  we 
be  married?     Let  me  see.      it  is  May  now.      F  shall 


have   to  u'o  to    Taris,  of   course.      Vow  will   coi 


ne 


will    vou   not 


•>  V 


'•("ould  we  ndt  hi'  miirried  II rst,  and  go  to  Paris 
af1"erwai'ds  V  "'   ciKjiiired  Tchiddo. 

Ihit  Miss  Liz/ie  had  no  intention  of  being  hur- 
ried to  the  altar  without  having  got  the  full  amount 
of  enjoyment  out  of  ir.iying  beautiful  (dothes,  and 
Tebaldo  was  obliged  to  content  himself  with  a 
])r()mise  that  the  wedding  should  take  place  early 
in    the    autumn.       She    wishetl    to    be    married     in 


1^ 


tome    \)\    an    arch 


bisl 


ion,    1 


no 


t     1 


)V    a,    car( 


linal. 


Tebaldo  agreed   to  the  whole  college  of  cardinals, 
if  necessary. 

« 

When    h(»   went    away,   he   walked    more    slowly. 
The  sun   was   very   low,  and   the  air   was    growing 


..-i< 


con LEONE 


55 


cooler.  He  saniiiered  down  towards  the  C'orso, 
well  pleased  with  his  own  |)i'os})eets  and  thinkin<^ 
out  the  details  of  his  future  with  intinise  satisfac- 
tion. Tebaldo  Avas  no  spendthrift  fool  to  waste 
his  wife's  fortune  on  absurd  fiivoiities,  or  to  gam- 
ble it  away  in  mad  s])eculations.  He  meant  to 
build  up  the  Corleone  once  more,  and  nuike  his 
family  far  .greater  than  it  had  ever  been.  Jfe 
did  not  know  exactly  how  rich  jNliss  Slayback 
was,  but  his  i^'ui^ssini;  was,  if  anythini;-,  umler  the 
truth,  and  he  had  seen  enouj^di  of  her  to  know  that 
she  desired  to  be  a  personaj.;"e,  and  was  attracted  by 
the  idea  of  rank,  lie  knew  that  she  and  her  aunt 
had  taken  ])ains  to  en([uire  into  tlu^  validity  of 
his  titles.  IFc  smiled  when  he  remiMubered  how 
cheaply  he  had  held  them  in  the  old  days  at  (^a- 
maldoli,  when  he  would  have  sold  his  bii'thri.uht  for 
a  new  ritle,  and  a  title  or  two  for  a  supply  of  am- 
munition ;  a-id  h(*  admired  in  himself  the  transfor- 
mation from  the  rou,L;h  country  i^'cntlcman,  hardly 
one  stcj)  above  tlu^  tenant  farnnu'  ol'  tlu'  Sicilian 
hills,  to  the  fashionabh^  youn-''  nobleman,  eniLjfai''ed 


t»i  b(*  married  to  a  t^'reat  heirt^ss,  and  idrinuly  on 
the  point  of  restoring  to  his  family  all  its  ancient 
magniiirence. 

lie  walked  the  length  of  the  (\)rso  and  biU'k 
befor(»  li(>  went  honu'.  lie  hatl  hardly  entcriM'  his 
room  when  there  was  a  light  kiuxdv  at  the  door. 
V'ittoria  entered,  looking  pale  and  frightened. 


56  con  LEONE 


"  What  was  the  iiiattcr  betweeii  you  aiul  Fran- 


cesco 


•>  ?,' 


she  asked  as  soon   as   sh(^   liad  sliiit  the 


(U)or  behind  lier. 

"  The  matter  ?  ''  Te))ald()  looked  [it  her  curiously, 
woudei'iiii;'  whetluM'  she  kiunv  anythiui;'  about  Ali- 
andra.  lUisili.  "  We  (|uai'relled,  as  usual,*'  he  said 
briefly. 

"  It  must  luiAc  been  worse  than  usual,"  said  Vit- 
toria,  in  a.  low  voice. 


H 


e  is  LToue 


'•(Joiu'".'     \\'li(M'(> '.'     (Joue  out  to  dinner 
baldo  ah'cctt'd  to  laiin'h  carelessly. 


'ie- 


Xo.     1   think  he  is  e,one  to  Sicily,"  answered 


the 


youiiLi'  u:\i 


.-1  r^' 


1. 


Tebaldo  uttered  an  exclamation  of  sur])rise,  and 
his  exi)ression  chanu'(Ml  as  he  looked  at  his  sister. 


\ 


es. 


V 


she   continuet 


I 


He    iiKule    a   terrible 


seene  with   me    and   our   moth'U'  —  not   exactly   a 


scene,   })erlia})s 


ir    was   all    about   you. 


H 


e    sa 


id 


that   he   was   J^oin.n",  that  he  could   not  live  in  the 
house  any  longt-r,  that  he  should  never  come  baek 

she  hesitated. 


i> '? 


a,L;ain.      He  said  — 

'*  What  more  did  he  say 

'•  He  was  half  niad,  \  think.  lie  said  it  was  bet- 
t(U"  to  b<'  an  outlaw  than  to  live  under  such  a  brother 
as  y(  '1,  and  that  he  would  pay  you  for  what  you  had 
done  to  him  in  the  v.ay  you  h^ast  expected." 

''  What  makch  you  think  tluit  he  is  <^one  to 
Sicily'.'"  asked  Tebaldo,  very  (piietly,  while  liis 
lids  drooped  at  the  corners. 


COIiLEOXE 


57 


""  He  looked  for  the  trains  in  tlie  nowsimper,  unci 
I  lu'iU'd  liini  sav  '  Kcifi^'io  '  and  '  JNlessina.'     We  tried 


to 


4 


UK 


t     1 


inn  —  w 


e   did    wliat   we  eonld.      IJnt    1 


le 


1  lacked  a  (jiiantity  of  things  in  a  linrry,  and  went 
olf  in  a  cal),  looking  at  liis  watch,  and  saying  that 
he  had  barely  time.  Mother  f(dl  into  one  of  those 
terrilde  lits  of  crying  that  slu^  has  sometimes,  and 
she  is  ill  again.      I  thonght  it  best  to  tell  yon." 


'MJertainly/'  said  Tebaldo,  thonghtfully.     ''And 
now  that  you  have  told  me,  please  go  away,  for  I 


mus 


td 


ress 


?j 


She  was  already  turning,  for  she  was  used  to  Ids 
peremptory  ways,  but  he  stopped  her. 

''  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Vittoria,"  he  said ;  "  1 
am  engaged  to  be  married  to  your  friend  ]\Iiss  Slay- 
back.  I  hope  that,  as  tlie  marr^  .ge  will  be  so  ad- 
vantage(ms  to  our  family,  yon  will  not  criticise  me 
to  her  tod  much.     I  am  not  quite  so  bad  as  you 


sometinu\^ 


think 


1? 


Vittoria  looki^l  at  him  in  silence  for  three  or  four 
seconds  befoi'c  she  sj)ok(\ 

"I  shall  say  nothing   to   injure  you  with  her," 


she  said  slowly,  and  at  once  left  the  room. 


■  I 


ClLVrTER   XXV 


f  M 


Aliaxdua  was  received  in  Ivaudazzo  with  that 
sort  of  ovation  wliich  onlv  Italians  accord  to  a 
successful  artist;  and  her  father's  house  was  filled 
foi  a  whole  day  with  the  respectable  townsmen  and 
their  wives  and  daugbtcrs,  who  came  to  greet  her 
and  congratulate  her.  For  the  newspapers  had 
inl'ornKMl  them  of  her  "successes  in  Ivome,  and  the 
Sicilian  papers  had  exagg<M'ated  the  original  reports 
tenfold.     The  mayor  and  his  wife,  tlu^  municipal 

lired  lieutenant  of  carabineers 


;ey 


with  his  |)retty  daughtiM',  tlie  rector,  the  curate, 
the  young  emigration  agent  of  the  big  steamship 
com})any  with  his  betrothed  bride  and  her  motlu'r, 
th»'  [irincipal  shoi»kt'eper  with  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren, the  innkeeper  —  in  short,  all  that  re})re- 
sented  the  highest  fashion  in  Randazzo,  iniduding 
Don  Tolomeo  l>f^liiii,  the  most  im[)ortant  tenant 
farnici'  on  the  great  T'ornasco  estate  as  wtdl  iis  a 
small  t'reeholder,  whose  ancestors  had  been  })rivi- 
leged  to  bear  arms,  and  who,  tlurefore,  ranked  as 
a  gentleman  and  stamped  the  cheeses  from  his 
dairy    with    a    little    tive-[)ointed    coronet.      Basili 

had  formerly  hoped  to  get  him  for  a  son-in-law, 

58 


I 


CO  II  LEONE 


50 


and  he  would  liave  ])oeii  considered  a  very  good 
luateli  for  tlie  notary's  daughter. 

All  Kandazzo  talked  of  the  singer's  return,  and 
the  poor  people  crowded  tlie  street  to  get  a  look  at 
her.  The  niavor  said  she  was  an  honour  to  the 
province  and  to  Sicil}^,  and  the  rector,  who  had 
baptized  her,  ex])ressed  his  hope  that  she  might 
he  always  as  good  as  slie  was  famous,  for  he  dis- 
trusted the  nann^  of  art,  but  wished  the  girl  well 
for  h(U'  father's  sake  and  her  own. 

Don  Atanasio,  tlie  apothecar}^  of  Santa  Vittoria, 
tried  to  ])ersuade  his  daughter  to  go  with  him  down 
to  Kandazzo  and  pay  Aliandra  a  visit. 

"Tt  will  divert  you  a  little  from  your  sorrow, 
my  daughter,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head. 

Concetta's  dark  eyes  turned  slowly  towards  her 
father  with  a  wondering  look,  as  tliough  she  were 
amazed  at  his  audacity  and  yet  pitied  his  inability 
to  measure  her  grief. 

"The  dead  need  no  amusements,"  she  said, 
grav(dy.     ''They  are  very  quiet.     Tliey  Avait." 

"  Kh  —  but  the  living,"  objected  Don  Atanasio. 
''We  are  alive,  you  know." 

Concetta  <lid  not  heed  wliat  lie  said. 

"The  dead  are  very  quiet.  Tliey  wait  for  the 
Judgment  a,nd  tlie  licsurrection  —  tlu^  judgment  of 
Itlood.  and  the  resurrection  of  the  innocent.  Then 
they  will  be  aliv^e  ngani." 

Don  Atanasio  sighed,  for  his  unhai)py  daughter 


60 


COIiLEOSE 


was    110    loiiirei 


lik. 


otli(n"   woinon, 


Slie 


was    01 


those  siiiipk'  l)^'i^,^^s  lor  wliom  life  lias  l)ut  one 
])Ui'i)ose  alter  lov<^  has  taken  jtossession,  and  from 
whom  tlic  1ov(mI  one.  <lyin<j:,  takes  all  jmrpose  away 


forever.     The  old  man  siLrlied  and  l(K»ke(l  sidew 


lys 


at  her.  and  a  tear  ran  down  his  tliin,  sti'ai.u'lit  nose, 
and  f(dl  lipon  tlie  jilaster  hi^  was  spi'eading  on  the 
marble  slab  before  him;   but   his  daiiLi'hter's  dark 


eye 


?s  wer(^  ( 


Irv 


She   was   sittinir  <>n  a,  little  low 


stool   behind   one   end   of   the   counter,  wlu^'e   si 


le 


could  not  be  seen  by  anyone  who  nii^ht  eliaiiee  to 
come  into  tlx^  shop.  Jler  head  was  screened  by 
the  sjjreat  old-fashioned  marbh^  mort;ir. 

Don  Atanasio  laid  down  the  liroad  mixing-knife 
lu^  was  using,  pushed  back  the  black  broadcloth 
cap  whiidi  CN»ncetta  had  once  embroidered  with  a 
design  of  green  leaves,  wiped  his  spectacdes,  turned 
away  to  l)low  his  nose  with  a  large  coloured  hand- 
kercliief,  and  turned  l)a(dv  again  to  take  a  long 
look  at  the  iiirl.  lie  laid  his  hand  ij-entlv  on  her 
head,  })ressing  lier  forehead  back  until  she  looked 


^U 


)  into  liis  face 


u 


\' 


OU 


wish    to    make    me    die    also,"    he    said 


slowly.      "  What  have    I    done    that  you   wish    to 


ma 


me   (IH 


li 


•>  ■>') 


ke 

She  looked  at  him  very  sadly,  and  then  quickly 
got  hold  of  his  other  hand  and  kiss(id  it  with  a 
sort  of  devotion.  She  was  vi'rv  fond  of  him.  He 
patted  the  back  of  her  head  alfectionately. 


con LEONE 


61 


"Til  ti'iitli,  my  dciir,"  lio  siiid  gently,  "if  I  see 
you  Mlways  thus,  I  shall  not  live  long,  lor  1  have 
only  you  in  the  world,  and  the  rest  does  not  niat- 
t('r.  lUit  it  is  not  that,  since  I  would  die  to  make 
you  ha[)j)y.  What  should  it  be  for  me?  I  am  old. 
I  am  of  no  use.  They  will  have  another  apothe- 
cary in  Santa  Vittoria.  That  is  nothing.  My 
thoughts  are  for  you." 

"Do  not  think  for  me,"  answered  the  girl.  "I 
sit  here  quietly.  I  do  no  harm.  And  then,  vlien 
it  is  later,  I  go  to  see  my  dead  one  every  day." 

"  But  it  is  not  good  to  do  this  always,"  objected 
Don  Atanasio,  coaxinglv.  "T'hat  is  why  I  say 
come  down  with  me  to  Uandazzo  to-morrow,  and 
let  us  go  and  see  the  notary  liasili,  who  has  broken 
his  leg,  and  his  daughter,  the  great  singer,  who 
has  conn^  back  from  Kome  to  visit  him.  She  is  a 
good  girl,  and  you  can  make  a  little  conversation 
with  her.  It  will  be  a  diversion,  a  sober  diversion, 
and  the  air  will  do  you  good,  and  the  movement." 

She  kissed  his  hand  again,  then  droi)ped  it,  ami 
drew  \\[)  her  black  shawl  over  her  head,  for  she 
heard  a  step  on  the  threshold.  Don  Atanasio  heard 
it,  too,  and  immediately  took  up  his  mixing-knife 
and  went  to  work  again  at  the  i)laster.  The  new- 
comer was  the  lieutenant  who  comnuinded  the 
infantry  men  quartered  in  Santa  Vittoria.  He 
asked   for  six  grains  of   (piinine   in  three  doses. 

He  was  a  (|uiet  young  fellow,  scrupulously  neat 


;i 


62 


COliLKONK 


*  i: 


;)       ■' 


.    I 


in  liis  cldse-fittin*':  tunic  witli  its  turniMl-down 
velvet  collar,  liis  small  red  iiioustaclic  carefully 
trinnncd,  and  Ms  red  liair  jiarlcd  licliind  Jind  w«dl 
brushed  ludow  Ins  ca,i>.  lie  had  sinnuiarlv  l)riLrht 
hlue  eves  Avith  i-ouiili  red  evehrows  and  ii  bright 
imd  liealthv  but  inucli  freckled  complexion. 

])<)n  Aljinasio  iii'oceeiU'd  to  weii^li  out  the  little 
doses  of  tlie  valualth'  dru^',  and  the  otlicer  watched 
him  as  he  cut  the  (dean  white  jLiper  into  smaller 
sizes  and  neatly  folded  eacdi  jjaclvay'e. 


Do  vou  know  all  those  Pa^diuca  brothers?"  1 


It; 


asked  smUh'ulv 


Th 


)tl 


le  aDotliecarv  s 


topp 


xMi   m   ins  work  am 


1 1,  looked 


it   h 


!im    Keenlv 


b 


'riie  oflicer  was   a.    IMcdmontese 


and  was,  therefore,  un[)oi>ular  in  the  south. 

'•JCh!'"  ejaculated  Ww  apothecary.     "They  foi 


meih'  lived  lie 


1  have  seen  them 


?' 


Concelta  did   not  stir  in  her  hiding-place  at  the 


end    (d'    the    couider,    behind    the    marhh;    nn)rt 


ir 


The  ollicer  was  silent  tor  a  moment,  and  the 
a]iothecai'y  hastily  folded  the  last  packaijje,  slippinig 
one  end  of  the  doubled  ]ia[)er  into  the  other,  a^s 
chemists  do,  and  taking;'  up  another  sheet  (d'  paper 
in  which  to  wi'ap  the  three  doses  toL;'et!ier. 

"One  ol'  them  has  sn<ldenl\'  returuiMl  here,"  sa,id 


the  othcei 


He   is   in   the   neiuhboui hood,  and  is 


not  here  I'or  any  L;"ood  purpose.  Ab)st  proitably  he 
lias  come  to  do  some  iiijui'V  to  the  giMitleman  who 
Killed  his  brother,  the  bri'jand." 


u 


mi 


con LEONE 


63 


111  si)ito  of  liersflf  Coiict'tta  drow  a  sharp  breath 
between  lier  teeth.  Tlie  officer's  eyes  turned 
iiKjiiisitivel}'  towards  the  corner  where  slie  sat. 

"It  is  th(;  cat,''  said  J)on  Atanasio,  (;alinly. 
"One  lira  and  fifty  centimes,  Signor  Lieutenant," 
lie  added,  handiiiL;-  the  (jfUcer  the  package  across 
the;  counter. 

"They  say  tliat  it  is  Francesco  l?agliuca  who  has 
come  baek,  and  that  he  was  seen  tliis  morning  in 
riandazzo,"  siiid  the  young  man,  wliile  lie  counted 
out  the  money  in  big  cop})ers;  for,  as  usual  in  the 
south,  there  was  a  scarcity  even  of  the  tiinisy  little 
}>aper  notes.  "  We  do  not  know  him  hy  sight,  you 
sec,"  he  continued,  ''and  I  should  lie  veiy  glad 
of  any  inforimitioii,  if  you  should  see  him  in  tlie 
vilhe'-e.     One  thirty  —  fortv —  iiftv  —  there  it  is." 

He  laid  tlie  last  copper  on  the  marble  slab. 

"A  thousand  thanks,  Signor  Lieutenant,"  said 
Don  Atanasio,  colh'cting  the  coins. 

"  And  y  )u  will  let  us  know  if  you  see  the  young 
man?  "  asked  the  otlicer. 

'•  \'ou  shall  be  served,"  rt^plied  the  apothecary, 
gravidv. 

The  olhcer  thanlvcd  him.  nodihnl,  and  went  out, 
with  a  little  clattering  of  his  light  sabres  When 
lie  was  gone,  Don  Atanasio's  grave  face  relaxed  in 
a  smile. 

"  And  those  are  the   men  who  expect  to  rule   us 


Sicilians.'"  he  saitl   in  a  low  xoicc.  more 


to  1 


iimst 


■If 


"il 


64 


CORLEOXE 


1   I 


I 


il  i 


than  to  Ills  (LmiLrhtt'i-.  "They  wish  to  catch  a  man. 
AVhat  do  th(^y  (U)?  Tlicy  warn  liis  friends  by  ask- 
injjj  (|iu'sti()us.  What  can  such  [)eoi)h'  catch?  A 
crah.  as  w<'  say,  tliat  will  hitt;  their  own  tingors. 
Then  they  coniidain.  'L'liey  ai'(^  like  children. 
They  do  not  even  know  what  tin;  niatia  is,  and 
they  coni(^  to  Sicily." 

Concetta  sat  (^uite  still  in  lier  corniM-,  tliinking. 
It  seemed  t<>  her  sure  that  Francesco  Pagliuca  had 
come  to  kill  Orsino  Saracinesca,  for  his  brother's 
sake.  That  was  what  the  otUcer  thought,  and  all 
the  soldiers  would  be  looking  out  for  Francesco, 
and  on  the  smallest  excuse  he  would  be  arrested 
on  mere  suspicion.  It  did  not  strike  her  that  ho 
could  i)ossil)ly  liave  come  for  any  other  ]»ur[)Ose, 
and  lier  one  desire  was  that  Oi'sino  should  be 
killed.  Tliat  was  man's  work,  that  killing,  and 
she  would  leave  it  to  the  men.  Jhit  if  none  of 
them  would  do  it,  she  would  sonu;  day  take  her 
fatlier's  gun  and  wait  for  ()rsino  at  the  cemetery, 
for  he  often  ])a,ssed  that  way.  She  was  not  afraid 
to  kill  him,  but  she  c(msi(h'i'ed  it  to  be  the  duty 
and  business  of  the  ('(trleone  men.  Thc-y  liad  prior 
rigiits,  and,  Itesides,  they  wei"(!  men.  A  woman 
shouhl  not,  do  aii\  killing  so  long  as  there  were 
men  to  do  it,  except  iu  s(dl'-d«d'en(M^ 

It  was  clcai'ly  her  duty,  she  thought,  to  warn 
Francesco  that  the  sohliei's  were  a\var(^  of  his 
])resence  in  tin'  neighbourhood.      It  \  ould  be  much 


.^1 


(JORLEONE 


65 


wiser  of  him,  she  reflected,  to  comniuiiicate  with 


mth 


'h 


weve  about  Xoto,  and  get  lialf  Ji 
(h)zen  resohite  feUows  to  help  liiiii.  She  had  no 
knowdedge  of  his  eliaracter,  though  she  had  often 
met  him,  and  she  sup[)osed  him  to  be  like  his 
brothers,  bold  and  determined.  So  she  wished  to 
warn  him,  in  order  that  he  miglit  safely  aceom- 
})lish  wliat  slie  supposed  must  be  his  purpose. 

The  ditHculty  liiy  in  flnding  liim.  ller  father 
might  h(dp  lier,  perhaps,  but  it  was  doubtful.  It 
was  (piiti^  certain  that  he  could  not  say  or  do  any- 
thing wliich  couhl  til  wart  Francesco's  plans,  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  she  knew  that  lie  would  be 
cai'cful  not  to  seem  to  help  him,  for  he  had  to 
keep  on  good  terms  with  the  authorities,  for  the 
siiii])le  reason  that  he  held  a  governnumt  license  as 
apothecary,  which  could  easily  b(^  taken  from  liim. 

"  Did  you  know  that  Francesco  l*a.gliuca  had 
come  hack?"  she  asked,  after  a  long  silence, 
during  which  the  plaster  had  been  finished,  folded 
it[),  and  laid  aside  ready  to  Ix^  called  for. 

"  L  knew,"  answered  Don  Atanasio,  but  he  did 
not  seem  iiudined  to  say  anything  more. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me,  father?"  asked  the 
girl. 

**  It  might  have  given  you  i)ain,  my  child.  And 
then,  om^  does  not  say  everything  one  knows.  One 
i'oi'gets  many  things.  He  slept  at  the  houses  of 
l>on  Taddeo,  (he  grociu'." 

VOL.   II.  —  »•• 


f 


66 


COHLKOypJ 


\m 


II 


m 


i  llr 


''AVliere  is  lie  now?     Is  lie  still  hero?" 

"Who  shiill  say  whcrc^,  lie  is?  llciivcii  knows 
wIkto  ho  is.      I  cannot  know  ovorythin^. "' 

Ho  answered  v/ith  a  little  irritation,  for  he 
understood  that  Coneetta  wished  to  see  her  dead 
lover's  brother,  and  he  eonld  not  understand  how 
any  .i:^ood  could  come  of  the  meeting-. 

Concetta,  rose  slowly  to  her  feet  and  came  out 
from  behind  the  counter.  She  had  gi-own  very 
thin,  l)ut  she  was  aot  less  beautiful.  She  drew 
her  Idack  shawl  to^-etluM'  undcM*  her  chin,  and  it 
fell  over  her  forehead  to  her  (»yes.  There  was  no 
disguise  in  it,  for  cvimtouo  knew  her,  but  she  felt 
that  it  ga,v«^  her  somi;  ])rivacy  in  her  grief,  even  in 
broad  day  and  in  the  street. 

"  I  go  to  breathe  the  air,''  she  said  quietly, 
moving  towards  tlu^  door. 

"(Jo,  my  (hiughter,  you  need  it,*'  answered  the 
apotliec'ary. 

lie  wati'hed  her  sadly,  and  as  she  went  out  lu^ 
moved  to  the  entrance  of  tlu^  sUo[)  and  looked  after 
her.  Tall,  sad.  and  black,  and  graceful,  she  walked 
smoothly  ah)ng  the  shady  side  of  the  street,  whicli 
was  (h\serte(l  in  the  bla/ing  noon.  J)()n  Atanasio 
did  not  go  in  again  till  she  had  turned  the  corner 
and  was  out  <if  sight. 

Sh((  found  tlie  gi'ocer's  brother,  th(^  fat  and 
(;i'oss-eye(l  saci'istan,  eating  (hirk  In'own  beans  out 
of  an  earthen  l»owl  with  an  ii'on  fork,  in  the  open 


..^.y 


CO U LEONE 


67 


shop.  Ko  one  clst^  was  tlicrc.  It  was  a  cool,  vaulted 
jilaco,  witli  a  fiooi'  of"  Ix'atcii  cenu'iit  jiiul  volcanic 
ashes,  aiul  a  imiiiher  of  Wv^  |»i-(\ss<'S,  in  a  row  Ix'liiiid 
a  lon^i;'  walnut  countei",  l)la,ck  and  polished  with  a.^-e. 
llanis  and  sides  of  bacon  \\\uv^  from  the  ceilin<', 
and  the  air  smelt  of  salt  pork,  ct'reals,  and  candles. 
The  fat  man  sat  on  a  bench,  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
eating-  his  beans  with  a  sort  of  slow  voracity. 
lie  looked  u[)  as  Concetta's  shadow  darkened  the 
door. 

'' \\'ill  you  acco])t?"  he  asked,  lifting  his 
earthen   bowl  a,  little  as  he  sjuike. 

"Thank  you,  and  good  appetite,"  auowered  tlui 


n;iil.     "  How  are  you 


}  7' 


Always  to  scM've  you,   most  ji^entle  Concetta 


?» 


said  tlie  nia.n.      "  What  do  you  need 


i>  M 


ICat,"    rej)lied   Concetta,   sittin,L»-  down   u|)on   a 


rush-bottom  chair 


I    do    not    come    to    disturb 


V(»u.      iVr(^   you  all  alone?"     She   peei'cd  iid,o  the 
slia.dows  ai  the   back  of  the  shop. 

"  ICh,  you  know  how  it  is?  TaddiM)  eats  and 
then  i^o(^s  to  sleej),  and  while  he  sleeps  I  kee|)  the 
shop.  In  trnth,  it  needs  no  i^'reat  merchant  to  do 
tiiat,  for  uo  one  comes  at  this  hour.*' 


>■> »» 


*'  And  v<>u  and  your  brol  her  do  not  eat  toLjetlKU' 

"(ienerally  we  do,  but  t(j-day,  who  knows  how 

it  was?      He  ate   lii'st  and  went,  to  sleep.     Then   I 

br()n,!.;'ht  my  beans  here  for  comiiany.      This   is  our 

conversation.      I  o[)en  my  mouth,  and  befon;  I  can 


d 


«        II 


I    :     !• 


68 


COULEONE 


'          '4 

1 

,  1 

i 

i 
i 

m 


s[)t';ik  tlio  boaiis  answer  ino.     This  I  rail,  indeed, 


conversation 


11 


And   Francesco   I'a'j-linca,  with  wlioni  does  Ik; 


converse  upstairs 


•>  V 


asked  Concf^tta,  lowering-  lier 


voice. 


'Jlie  man  looked  uj>  ([uickb;,  with  his  nioutli 
full,  as  tliough  to  set;  whether  she  were  in  earnest 
and  knew  the  truth.  A  glance  convinced  him  that 
she  did. 


it 


He  went  to  lianda/'/.o  at  dawn/'  he  said,  almost 


He  makes  love  with  tin;  not; 


ir 


m  a  wnisper 
daughter  there." 

Concetta.  did  not  believe  that  this  could  be  the 
onlv  reason  for  Francesco's  return. 

"Wliy  does  lie  not  stay  at  Kandazzo,  then?"  she 
encpiircd.  "  Wliy  sliould  he  come  here  at  all?  It 
is  a  long  wa\'." 

"Perhaps  lie  is  afraid  of  J^)asili's  friends,"  sug- 
gested the  fat  man.  "Or  he  prefers  to  sle(^p  here 
because;  the  air  is  better.  He  will  certainly  not 
tell 


us  wliv  he  conies. 


"  Is  he  coming  back  this  evening?" 

"I  think  so,  for  he  has  a  box  luu'e  with  his 
clothes,  and  other  things.  l>ut  i'or  (diarity's  sake, 
tidl  no  one." 


I 


.)  «i 


a  s 


luih 


Concetta  laughed  in  a.  cold  way,  without 
"  I  wish  to   warn  him  that  the  soldiers 

know  he  was  in  K'anda/zn  vestei'dav,  and  are  look- 

iiiir  out  for  him 


') 


COR  LEONE 


89 


SIk;  toLl  tii(3  iu;ui  of  the  lioiitcniiiit's  visit  to  lier 
fatlier's  slujp,  iiiitl  ho  listeiunl  attentively. 

"I  could  wiiit  t'o).'  him  in  the  roiid,"  lie  said. 
"1[(^    thoii'dit   that  the    soldiers    would   not   know 


liini 


heri 


)eeause 


tl 


i( 


'}'   are    a 


11 


Ui'w   men. 


J  Jut 


they  hiive  seen  him  in  llandazzo  and  have  sent 
word.  Tliey  think  that  he  has  eome  on  aeeount 
of  the  Saraeinesea,  l)ut  he  has  followed  the  notary's 
daui,diter  from  Rome.  They  cannot  touch  him  so 
loni:'  as  he  does  no  harm.'' 

'"They  may  prevent  him  from  doing  it,"  said 
Concetta,  looking  steadily  at  tlu;  num. 

"That  would  he  a  pity,"  he  answered  gravely. 


1  will  wait  for  him  in  the  road. 


J? 


"lUit  if  he  comes  hy  the;  hridle  j)atlL  over  the 
hills,  you  will  miss  him." 

"  I  do  not  tiiink  he  will  do  that,  for  it  is  a  had 
road,  and  he  had  my  hroiher's  l)est  horse  to  ride.'' 

"(}()  and  wait  in  the  hridle  [)ath,"  said  C\)ncetta. 


1  will  wait  in  th(^  road,  towards  ('amal(h>li 


V 


"lie  will  not  come  hefore  sunset,"  ohserved  the 
sacristan.  "That  crazy  ])riest  of  the  Saracinesca, 
Don  Ijjpolito,  comes  to  play  the  organ  in  Santa 
N'ittoria,  every  dav,  and  ])avs  me  to  blow  the  Ixd- 
lows,  and  he  never  goes  away  till  twenty-thi'ee 
o'clock." 

Twenty-thre(>  of  the  clock  is  half  an  hour  hefore 
the  sun  sets,  at^  all  times  of  the  year,  l)y  the  old 
re(;koning,  which  is  still  in  use  in  the  south. 


!i 


f 


Hi 


1 

I 


i  ii 


70 


von LEONE 


"You  ran  send  a  ])oy  to  hlo'.v  tlie  bellows,"  siig- 
gesttnl  Coiicetta.  '*  "^'ou  caiiiiut  trust  anyone  to 
warn  l^ran'-csco  rat^liuca." 

They  both  supposetl  that  since  enfjuiry  was 
being  made  for  him,  he  would  be  in  imminent 
danger  ol"  arrest,  with  or  without  anv  lei-al 
grounds,  an  opinion  sullieieutly  indieative  of  tlu! 
state  oi"  the  e(uintrv.  The  man  stared  blankly  at 
the  wall  Tor  a  few  seconds  alter  ('  )n"etta  had  last 


S[)oken,  tliin  nodch'd,  :iiid  l«'\.;a 


Til 


d 


le  Liirl  rose  irom  ner  (  ;ia 


i  io  e;  t  again. 

aii«t  moved  towards 
the  door  with  her  gracerul,  slowly  <  .;  h'uced  step. 
She  had  (h)!u^  what  she  had  come  to  do  and  was 
quite  sure  of  tla^  num,  as  indeed  she  had  i-eason 
to  \)(\  i'or  the  maiia  pi'otects  its  own,  and  generally 
has  its  own  way  in  the  end,  in  s[)ite  of  goviuai- 
ments  and  soldiers.  If  Concetta  and  tlu^  fat 
sacristan  a.sked  no  one  to  hel[)  them,  it  was  l)e- 
oanse    it  was    such  a   very   simple  matter  to   warn 


i< 


I'ancesco   o 


f  dai 


iLi'er,    that    tlie\'    \\i 


('( 


l.'d    1 


lo  assist- 


ance. Ihit  as  thev  iMM'flcd  none,  they  told  no  one 
what  they  were  going  to  do. 

('oncetta  came  homi'  again  to  the  ([uiet  litth^ 
sh(tp,  and  Doll  Atanasio  bolted  tJie  glass  door,  and 
they  both  went  upstairs  to  dinner.  The  girl  ate  a 
little  better  than  usual,  and  si]>[)ed  half  a  glass  of 
strong,  black  wine. 

"The  air  diM  \<mi  giM.d,"  obsei'ved  her  father, 
looking  at  her.     "  VA\,  this  human  liody!     What  is 


CO  i:  LEONE 


71 


it?  Who  shall  eve  r  TiiHh'rstaiid  it?  You  go  out 
every  ai'tei'Hoou,  when  it  is  cool,  for  two  hours,  and 
it  does  you  no  good,  and  you  eat  no  more  than  a 
bee  takes  from  a  tiower.  And  to-day  you  lto  out 
lor  lialf  .'U  hour  into  a  lii^'t  tli;.t  wouhl  l>urn  up 
jiaving-M  !U's  and  y(»u  (">]w  l)ack  witli  an  appe- 
tite. So  inneli  tlie  l)etter.  It  is  not  I  that  should 
coniplai'.  it  j  .'u  ate  the  house  and  tlie  walls,  j)oor 
•  Mid." 

"  Wlien  the  heart  is  thirsty  for  blood,  the  Ijody 
is  not  Innnjjfv  i'or  nn-at, "  said  the  beautiful,  white- 
faced  girl,  in  her  clear,  low  voice. 


] 

m 

! 

i 

' 

CllAITKi;   XXVI 


Hii 


i 


IvvoiAH)  and  Oi'siiio  had  already  acquired  eer- 
laiii  lixed  liabils  in  tlieir  several  oeenpations.  so 
tlial  llicy  rarely  Tailed  to  meet  at  the  same  regular 
hours  and  then  separate  ai^ain,  each  doinjjj  the  same 
oi-  siniilai"  thinirs  day  attei-  d.iv.  Such  re'adaritv 
becomes  a  second  nature  in  remoter  places  where 
there    is    little    chance^    that    anvthinu'   uuexi)eeted 


}■ 


SUOU 


M   li 


ai.j 


>en. 


Oi'sino  had  really  not  enough  to  do,  after  he  had 
once  taniilia.J'ized  himself  with  his  surroundin!4's. 
So  lon.n'  as  San  <Jiacinto  had  remained,  it  had  been 
differe!it,  for  he  had  .i^reat  plans,  ami  had  spent 
much  time  in  ridiuL;'  about  the  cituntrv  with  an 
engineer  from  I'aleinio  who  was  to  build  the  light 
I'ailway  round  l*'tna.  San  (iiacinto  had  now  gone 
back  to  Kouu',  however,  leaving  his  <-ousin  in 
charge  of  ("amaldoli,  with  directions  to  manage 
things  with  an  eas\'  hand,  so  as  not  to  prejudice 
the  people  against  the  work  of  the  railway  when 
it  should  be  begun.  To  do  this  meant.  }»ractically, 
to  lea\t'  the  ttuiants  to  their  own  devices,  unless  it 
wtM'e  possil)le  to  help  them  in  any  way  to  which 
thev   should  not   obiect.      At    the   same  time,   there 


<:i 


CO  11  LEONE 


73 


were  certain  dcffnisive  measures  wliieli  were  always 
necessary,  for  no  one  knew  when  the  brigands 
miglit  grow  weary  of  Noto  and  appear  on  the 
slo[)es  of  Etna  again  to  avenge  their  friend,  Fer- 
dinando  Pagliuca. 

(  :-sino  used  to  ride  a])Out  a  good  deal,  more  for 
the  sake  of  exercise  than  for  anything  he  could 
accomplish,  and  he  carried  his  rifle  ]iow  as  a  matter 
of  habit,  but  rarely  took  one  or  two  of  the  cara- 
bineers with  him.  He  began,  to  Ixdieve  that  there 
were  not  really  any  oulhiws  at  all,  and  that  Ferdi- 
uando's  unknown  friend  had  left  that  pfirt  of  the 
country.  I})i)()lito,  as  a  ]>riest,  went  al)Out  un- 
armed, and,  l)eing  naturally  fearless,  he  rand)led 
ai)out  as  h(^  pleased.  Almost  every  day  he  walked 
to  Santa  Vittoi-ia.  and  si)ent  an  hour  at  the  organ. 
Oi'sino  accomi)ained  him,  wIumi  there  was  any  rea- 
son for  going  to  the  village,  but  it  did  not  amuse 
him  to  hear  his  brother's  music.  In  iact,  it  was 
rather  a,  relief  to  him  not  to  hear  the  ]iiaiio  con- 
stantly at  his  elbow,  iis  \w  heai'd  it  when  Ip[iolito 
played  in  their  joint  sitting-room  in  Ivome. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  Concetta 
had  walked  to  the  grocer's  shoo,  I])])()lito  strolled 
rp  to  the  small  church  as  usual.  There  was  a  little 
hune  boy  who  had  discovered  the  priest's  habits, 
and  used  to  hang  about  in  the  afternoon  in  the 
hope  of  (\irning  a.  })enny  by  calling  the  fat  sacris- 
tan  to   come    and   blow    the   organ.     lie   was  not 


ii 


COULKOXE 


1 


II 


sti'oiit;'  (Mioui^h  to  blow  it  liimsclf,  and  was  con- 
ti'iit  and  .-L^lad  to  .u'ct  a  copjtcr  or  two  for  liin}»inj^' 
into  tlic  village  witli  his  incssa.nc.  Ippidito  now 
liad    a    kt'\'    of    his   own    to   the   cliurcli,   and   went 


insi(h'    wliih'    tlic    man     was    comin: 


I*'ach    (lav 


dui'inL;"  tilt'  twt'nly  Miitnitcs  or  so  which  ^ujcncrally 
('lapsed,  he  worked  at  the  l»a(dv  of  the  instru'nent . 
rei»airin,u'  with  l)its  of  wire  a  nundx'r  of  trackers 
that  I'an  Ironi  the  pedals  to  a  wooden  stoj)  set  np 
on  one  side  oi"  the  ori;an.  At  some  former  time  the 
connexions  had  hv-eii  reftaired  with  v-ixed  strinJ^^ 
liich    the    hun'_;rv    (dini'tdi    mice    had    n'nawed    t 


w 


C) 


1 


>n'ces. 


it 


was    a    tronhh'some    joh,   r(Mpnring   pa 


tience  and  some  me(dianical  skill,  as  W(dl  as  two  or 
thrtH'  simple  tools  whi(di  Ippolito  had  hroni^ht  fn^m 
Ivonu'  and  now  left  in  the  origan  ind.il  the  work 
should  lie  tinished. 

Instead  of  the  sacristan,  a  ])'i'^  hoy  a})p(^ared  on 
this  particular  day.  the  same  who  had  carried  the 
holy  water  for  the  pi'i(\st  who  had  come  down  to 
Camaldoli  when  I''erdinan(h)  had  been  killed.  lie 
explained  that  the  sacristan  had  been  sent  on  an 
errand  to  lii-onte  by  his  brother,  the  grocer,  ami 
had  left  him.  the  boy.  to  do  duty  at  th(>  bellows  if 
need<'d.  Ippolito  thon^ht  nothinu;  of  the  matter, 
and  sat   down   to  maki'  music,  as  usual.     The  davs 


1  h 


lib 


dated 


w«M'e  urowin;.,^  very  Ioul;',  and  he  generally  rcL^u 

his  stav  in   the  (lunch   b\   the  sini    I'ather  than  bv 

Ins    wat(di.      Sometimes    the    fat    sacristan    came 


-».■ 


i'OHLEONE 


75 


round  from  ])oliiii(l,  i)ersi)iriiii,%  and  doclarin.i^  that 
liis  l)n)tli('i'  n(MHl«'d  him  at  home, 

Meanwliih'  ( 'oncctta  had  i^^ono  (h)wn  the  road  to 
the  ccnn'tcrv  just  Ix-yond  the  sli()ul(h'r  of  tlic  liill, 
(Hit  of  siL;lit  of  tlio  villa,!4(^  and  tlic  litth*  church  in 
which  Ijtpolito  was  i)hivin.L,^  the  or.^-an.  It  was  her 
hour,  and  lie  had  i^'njwn  used  to  seeing  lier  sitting 
(»n  tlie  curl)ston(^  ])V  the  churchyard  gate  every  dav 
^vhen  he  went  home  just  before  suns<'t.  When  she 
passed  tlie  cliurch  and  licard  the  music  tlir(>ugh 
th(!  (h)or   that    was   left   ajar,   she    knew   also   who 


Avas  there,  and   her  eyes  darkenctl  as  she  went  h 


and  she  drew  her  shawl  nu)re  closely  ahout  her 
head.  And  she  i-ecogni/.tMl  the  priest's  light  step 
when  he  came  1)\  the  cemetery  gate  an  hour  later, 
and  she  always  turned  her  face  a\vay,  that  she 
might  n(»t  see  him. 

The  }nM)ph»  kn(>w  her,  too,  and  most  of  them  ])it- 


d  1 


UMi  ner,  an( 


1  all 


I'esuec 


■ted  1 


KM"  sorrow.     Some  of  tlu^ 


lahourei's  who  came  down  from  tln^  hill  farm,  hy 
the  jiaths  that  turiu'd  into  the  main  road  just  at 
1ht»  end  of  the  churchyard,  used  to  touch  their  hats 
when  they  jiassed  her,  and,  when  slie  chanced  to  he 
looking,  she  nodded  gravely,  ackn()\vledging  their 
greeting.  They  knew  she  was  haJf  nmd,  hut  the 
madness  of  a  great  sorrow  has  always  hec^n  re- 
specled  l)y  simj)!*  folks  who  feel  seldom,  but 
keenly,  and  think  little.  The  peasants  generally 
passed  about  sunset  on  their  way  into  the  village. 


li 


n 


.-.#- 


76 


COULEOSE 


I  li 


'!\)-(l;i)'  ('oncciiii  caiiH'  lo  t1i(»  .n'atc  as  usual,  and 
Avlicu  slic  roiichcd  it  I-'ranccsco  was  no  loiii^cr  ujtpei'- 
iuost  ill  \\vY  tli()u;-;lils.  At  the  slight  of  tlir  black 
(•r(tss   that    niarkctl   the  last  i^'ravc  on   the  Icl't,  the 


w 


hoi. 


e  world  van  is 


hed 


iLiain,  and  her  soitow  eaine 


down  like  ;i  darkness  Ix-tween  her  and  all  life. 
She  stood  with  drv  eves  and  eoiuprcssed  lij)S, 
j^Taspin^'  th'  iron  r.dls  that  were  hot  with  the  levcd 
sun,  and  omI  of  the  loni;',  low  nioiind  rose  the  faee 
and   h,L;iire  of  tie    well-loved   man. 

TIm  I'e  can  he  nolhiiiL;"  intellectual  in  the  s)>asin 
of  a  ureal  soitow.  in  the  hlind  j^i-aspin^Mijion  eini)ti- 
iiess  f(»r  what  is  not.  in  the  heart-fjiinine  that  no 
lixiu'U'  thin;_;-  can  satisfy,  Su(di  lii-ief  hrinijjs  no 
thoughts,  i'oi'  it  i>  the  Ncry  conti-arv  of  thinkiiii^^ 
It  is  only  wlicn  e;ieli  relurninLT  cdiivulsion  has  sub- 
sided t!iat  thoM'^ii!  collies  li;tck.  and  then  it  comes 
uncertaiiiK    like  the  sense  of  toiichiiiT  a   small  ob- 


lll'iMl: 


:1. 


a    licavy    pal 


('(sneetta  had  U"  consciousness  of  the  passiuLC  «d' 
time.  a>  she  stood  at  the  i^at)-.  nor  lor  a  loii;.!;  whih^ 
aftei'wai'ds.  when  >lie  had  sat  down  uj>on  the  curb- 
stoiie  in  her  atciistomed  attitude,  with  her  shawl 
drawn  down  o\ei'  her  face,  shieldiuL;'  it  from  the 
low  i-a\s  of  the  >iiikiu;.,,^  sun,  and  from  the  sii^lit 
of  tl.e  world  that  was  .so  desolate  for  her.  .\s 
spriuL;'  warmed  to  snmniei'.  no  one  jta.ssed  that  way 

hi»   could    help   it,    for    the    road    was   tlusty    and 


w 


hot. 


COULF.ONE 


77 


Two  of  tlio  foot-(';ii'{il)iiH'('rs  [){iss(m1  Iku*,  retuniiii^ 
to  Santa  \'iltori;i  Iroiii  their  i'<'L;iilai'  [tatrol  of  tlu* 
liiL;li  road,  their  ciirhines  shmi;'  over  tiicir  sliouldcrs 
and  tlu'ir  [>ijM'-clay('(l  cross-hclts  i^lcaiiiiiii;"  white 
in  tlie  sun.  'I'ln-y  knew  hei-,  too,  and  barely 
i^hniced  at  lier  ;is  tliey  went  l»y.  She  did  n(»t. 
even  raise  iier  head,  t!ionL;h  slie  renienihered,  now, 
that  slie  had  eoine  to  wait  for  I'^raneesco  rai^liuea, 
and  she  was  ,L;"hid  that  tlie  patiol  had  marched  up 
a,L;ain,  l"or  lie  nmst  he  followin,i;  them,  and  could 
thus  not  hi^  nu't  l)y  tliem.  She  knew  that  lie 
would  come  on  liorse])a(d\.  As  she  strained  her 
eiirs  to  catch  the  distant  sound  (»f  lux, Is,  the  sava.^'e 
lon,L;ini^  for  reven,!^"«»  heuan  to  hurn  a.L,^ain  in  her 
JH'ai't.  Sundy  he  must  ha\'e  come  lnr  that,  and 
not  I'cally  for  love  of  Aliandra  Uasili.  If  he 
I'cached  the  cemet<'ry  in  time.  ''••  -(mid  kill  Ipjio- 
liln.  the  i>riest,  as  he  canu'  dd  •,  Ircm  the  (diui'cli. 
She  would  show  him  Just  whei'c  td  stand  with  his 
L;un,  at  the  cornel-  of  tl.e  wall,  and  she  would 
staml  heside  him;  and  th'ii,  if  lie  were  (piick,  lie 
could  ,1,'et:  down  half  'vay  to  Caiualdoli.  near  the 
ci'ossroads  and  kill  ( )rsino,  to(»,  wlu-ii  lie  came  n]> 
hastilv  to  see  his  dead  hroihci".  Tlie  vision  of 
miK  h  Itlodd  reddene(l  it(d'oi'e  her  achin,^"  eyes,  as 
she  listelH'd  Inr  tie  horse's  lumfs.  If  nnly  lie  could 
i'ome  Ixd'oi'c  Ippdlitc.  she  tliMie^iit,  ami  she  listened 
also   for  the   piiest's   li.i^ht  step  jteliind   her. 

l''rancesco  c.:me    liist.     She    saw    him    far  down 


^1 


'8 


COliLKOM: 


the   road    lu'l'Mrc   the   lirsl    soim*!   I'cachcd  licr,      lii 


w 


as  ridiii'-'  IcisiircK   iii>  llic  >\vi'\)  waw  a  Iti-oad  hat. 


dniwi 


1    (iNcr    Ins   ('\'t's. 


a-'aiiist    <1"'    l«'V('l    sun,   that 


Li'lcaiiH'd  like  lii-c  dii  llic  liarrd  of  his  rillr.  She 
coidd  SCI'  ihal  tioiii  tiiiic  ti>  tiiiM'  he  hxtUcd  behind 
him  (piicklx .  I  Ir  was  wai  iicd  already,  she  IhouL^hl. 
Sn  much  ihc  hcttcr.  1 1'  onlv  he  wouhl  (|uickcn  his 
speed  a  litth'.  I[>i>nlil(t  aliuost  always  passed  the 
L!:ra\'eyard  iicl'orc  the  ^uii  was  (piite  ih»\\ii.  Her 
liear;   heat    \ci-\    fast,  as  siie  licard  the  (diid\   ol'  th(5 


icrsc  s    1 1'l III    su< M's 


against    the    st(»ii 


cs,    and 


11 


len 


the  I'attlc  (»r  the  tiny  pcjiidcs  that    llc\v  up  and  i'ell 
tn   i'i;^iil    and    left    at    e\cry    step. 

She  rose  when  he  was  within  lil'ty  yards  el'  her, 
and  threw  the  hlaek  shawl  hai'k  lioai  her  splendid 
hlaek    hair,      lie    knew    her    I'aee    and    wnidd    stop 


w 


hen    he     I'eeouni/ed    Iiei'.        She    I'ennun  I  >e  red    til 


SolllKl     ol      hrs     \nlee.   ami      ll(t\\      lie     jiiid    >;il(|     in     lirr 

heariii;^'  that  she  was  ver\  lieaut  i  I'lil,  and  oiiee  when 
she  had  liecu  idnne  in  her  lather's  shop,  he  hud 
come  in  and  had  talked  st  ran •_;•(' ly.  ami  she  Imd 
Iteeii  a  little  I'riLiht eiied.  lni*  l''erdinando  had  eii- 
tei'ed  ju.Nt  then.  She  lemcillliered  ii  ;dl  distinctly. 
It  did  not  matter,  now,  lor  he  1 
l''ei'dinando.      'The    Imllets    that 


lad  c(niie  to  a\cn,Lr(' 


^Im luld    (jo    |i 


is'  ice 


were    alread_\    in    the    \\  iiiclie^.li'r    that    ■-;leaiiic(l    so 
red    in    the    settiie^-    silii. 

she  stoihl    iipri'-dil.   with    hci'   head   thrown   liack, 
that  he  mi'^ht  icco'_;ni/e  her.     Me  stopped  heside  her. 


m 


COHLl'JOM': 


79 


"CoiKM'tlM  !"  lie  cxclaiiiKMl,  slnilil»,L,^  as  lio  smil«Ml 
111  cvcrv  in'clty  woman.  '•  What  brings  you  here'/ 
W'liat  arc  yon  doin.n' ont,  Iktc  in  tlic  road  alone'/" 

Slic  liai'dlv  saw  tlial.  In;  sinilrd,  in  her  own 
carncslncss. 

"Tliat  ln'inns  nu'  here,''  sin*  said,  pointini^ 
lliron^h  tilt'  iron  ^'alc.  "  \h)  von  sec'/  It  is  tli«} 
last   one  on  tlu^  left,  with   tlu'  black  cross." 


I'^ranccsci)  looked. 

"  1  sec  a  •■•rave,"  lu^  said  indirt'crcntlv 


It 


IS    voiir 


broil 


ler  s    Lii'avc 


aid     the    ffirl. 


'•  Fcrdinando  lies  there'' 

••  ( )h  —  I  utiderstand." 

The  voiiu'^  man  L;laiiced  up  and  down  the  I'oad, 
Mud  ihsnioiinted  I'mm  his  li(»rse,  passin;^^  his  arm 
ihroiinh  the  bri/ih'.  lie  advanced  (dose  to  the 
;^ate.  and    looked  tliron,L;h    il    in   silence   tor  scvci-al 

<»'('(  (lids. 

••  I'onr  tidlow!"  he  exclaimed,  inmut'/  away 
a,;ain.  but    without    an\    \r\\    strong-   I'eelinu   in   hi.H 

tnlic 

rniicetta  ,!4Ta.spe<l  his  arm  roii^Lcldy.  to  draw  !iim 
;d"t«'r  lici'.  and  spt»ke  rapidly  int<j' hi.-^  car. 

"The  priest  Saracincs'-a  will  be  comni'^^  d.»wn 
the  ro;id  from  the  vilhe^'c  at  any  moment.  ('om<^ 
(piiclslv,  conic  with  me.  iJehind  the  corner  ot  the 
wall.  ^'<Ml  can  shoot  him  trtmi  theic.  a)id  I  will 
liold  yoiu'  liorsi'."  She  dra,i^',i;"cd  him  aloni,^  and 
the   hoi'sc  tollowcd,  led  b\    his  arm.      "  No  one  w  ill 


80 


(JO  li  LEONE 


!, 


come.  WluMi  he  is  (load,  mount  ([uickly  and  rido 
down  to  tilt'  crossroiuls  above  Ciimuldoli,  by  the 
lieUls,  Lintl  wail  behind  the  shrine.  I  will  iim  all 
the  way,  and  tell  Mh^  othiM-  Sai'ai-inesea  that  his 
])rother  is  dead  in  the  road,  lie  will  run  out, — 
from  behind  the  shrine  you  can  kill  him  easily. 
Then  v\(\v.  tor  the  woods  ol"  N(»t(K  The  l)ri}^an(ls 
are  there,  and   you    will   be  safe.'' 

Almost  before  he  knew  where  she  was  leadini,^ 
him,  he  I'ound  himself  behind  the  coiaicr  of  the 
eemelcry,  on  the  side  away  from  tlu^  villat;'*'.  in 
diujU'iuL;'  the  foundations  of  the  wall,  the  dark  tiifo 
had  bern  broken  (-ut  (»f  tlic  earth  and  ])iled  hi.^h 
u])  at  a  short  distance,  so  that  there  was  a  sort  of 
deep  trentdi  between  the  wall  and  the  heap  of 
stones,  out  of  whieh  the  poisonous  yellow  spur.L,^' 
L^rew  in  i;reat  bunches.  It  would  have  been  iiu- 
possible  to  seh'ct  a  betler  Spot  foi'  ail  auibusli  ill 
what  was  really  an  ojteii  country. 

With  ihe  illieoiiseious  ease  of  a,  count  I'V-bred 
woman,  ('niic«tla.  takiiiL;"  the  bridle,  batd^ed  the 
h<M'se  into  the  trench  so  as  to  leave  room  in  IVoiil 
of  hiiii  Inr  herself  and  I'^raneesco  to  be  uiidei- 
cover  of  the  wall.  Slie  had  scarcely  done  s[)ea 
in.L;'  when  they  were  already  in   jtosition 


I- 


'Miet,  \(Hir  rule  read\  I  she  said  in  a  wiiispei', 
at  the  same  time  takinu  hold  (d'  the  lealhein  belt 
b\   which  the  \\'iii(diestei'  was  sliiie'.      '*  He  ma\   be 


1 


lere    'I    any   momt 


■nt.     I 


»e    oiiicK 


V  1j 


COnLKONK 


81 


"  I>ut.  I  do  not  wisli  to  kill  anybody,"  said  Fran- 
cosco,  at  last,  with  an  uneasy  lau-'li. 

Conct'tta  started  and  stared  at  him,  too  niucli 
astonished  to  desj)ise  iiini   yet. 

'•  Y^)n  do  n(tt  wish  to  kill  the  Saraeineseal " 
Ifer  face  exjH'essed  blank  ania/.en».ent.  "  Uut  then, 
why  have  you  eoiue 

''Not  to  murder  anyone,  at  all  ev(»nts.     Vou  are 


•>  " 


qu 


lie  mac 


1. 


"Mad?     I?    Mad?      Is    iK.t    the    body    of   your 
murdei'i'd    br(»ther    Ivin*''    there,  on   the    othei'  side 


(> 


f  that  wall?      Does  not    his   blood  ci-N'  out  tor  the 


I  *' 


blood    of    those    wh((    killed    him?      Have    you    not 

« 

come  to  do  justice  ?  Have  I  not  liroui^ht  you  to  a 
sate  j)la('(?      And  you  call  uic  mad 

"(^>uite  luad,"  I'citei'ated   I'^raucesco,  coolly. 

She  staled  at  him  a  moment  lon,L,M'i',  and  an 
immense  coiitempt    rose   in   her  eyes. 

'•(Jive  me  y(»ui'  lille,"  she  said  in  a  ('ilTerent 
tone.      *•  I    will   kill    him.   si. ice  you   ;ire  alraid." 

'•  1    am  iKft  in  the   least    afraid,"   answered    !"'raii- 


eesco.    w 


itli    the    too    rea<ly    resentment,    a'-rainst    a 


woman  s    accusation    ol     cowaiMlicc 


w 


hicl 


I    a    rea 


cowai'il    always    shows.      "  N«»t    that    1    see    why    I 
should     risk     beinn'    sent     to    peiia!    servitude    !•• 
cause   my   brotln-r  i;i>t    himself   killed    in    a    fooli>h 


att.iir 


l''oolish 


('oiicetta's   bhu'k    exes    bla/.eil    s    d 


deidy    from  contem|it    to  an,!;"ei' 


\  tH,.   II.  — ». 


82 


COIiLKONE 


i( 


Foolish,    yos !    I-'crdiiumdo — T    am    sorry    f 


or 


k: 


liiiii,   of  course  — Itiit   lie   was  a  fo(>l/' 

The  l)a('k  ol"  one  little  white  liaii<l  liad  struck 
liiui  across  the  luouth,  ahuost  lu'lore  the  word  was 
out. 

"Infainel"  she  cried,  usiiis^  the  stron<^est  word 
in   lier  lan;4ua,<j:e. 

He  did  not  care  f'oi'  the  lii^iit  l)low,  still  h'ss  for 
the  word.  She  was  iiiatehlessly  beautiful  iu  her 
anu^ei',  as  the  hlood  i-ose  a,  little  in  lier  whit(; 
clie(d\s.  autl  her  nostrils  dilated  with  wrath,  'i'he 
sliawl  had  fallen  almost  to  the  ijfround,  and  revi^jled 
tier  })erfect  thi'oat  ami  e.\«i".!sitely  -;raceful  ti<;"ure  as 
she  faeed  him.  The  coloui'  rose  in  his  face,  and 
his  lijts  rt'ddened,  and  his  eyes  si)arkle<l  l>adly. 
.Almost  hefoi't'tlie  hand  that  had  stiMick  him  had 
fallen  to  her  si(h  .  he  had  caught  her  in  his  arms, 
and  his  lips  were  on  hers,  siuot  hei'iiiL^  hei%  hurtinij: 
her.  ami  he  was  InicinLr  hei-  l>a(d\wards  a,!4'ainst 
the  lie;i|i  (•!'  stones  —  not  twcntN'  \  ards  from  his 
Itrothers  i;ra\e. 

She  was  lithe  and  stroni;-.  hut  she  was  no  nmt(di 
for  him.  \  et.  de|'emlin;4"  hei'self  as  she  could,  like 
a  wild  animal,  she  hit  his  lip  half  thi'ou,L;h,  and  ;.s 
lie  started  umler  the  pain  she  w  reindied  her  h  -ad 
aside  and  sert-amed  w  itii  all  her  mi,L;ht,  once,  h  'foi«' 
1m'  ,ut>t    one  nf   h's   hands  ovrr   her  mouth. 

Ihit  hel'  sei'eam  had  Ix'en  heard.  She  ha<'  judL,''ed 
lightly  that    l[)polito  Saracinesea  would  le  comin;;" 


I* 


con  LEONE 


83 


nloii.LC  tlic  voiul  ill  ;i  IVw  iiioiiicMits,  to  inoct  liis  dcatli, 
lis  sli.'  li;i(l  Iiopt'tl.  Instead,  lie  sjivimI  licr.  tor  ;it  licr 
(TV,  l»('iii;j^  1)111  a  IVw  yards  from  the  conicr  of  tlic 
wall,  lie  spraiiL;'  forward,  saw  a  woman  st  riii;-|_,din,L,^ 
a!-;ainst  a  man,  rcfoniii/iiiL;'  ncitlicr,  leapt  into  the 
ti'encli  and  liad  l"'raneeseo  by  the  back  of  the  collar 
in  a  moment,  twist inij,' the  t()nL;"h  stai"elie(l  linen  with 
all  the  niiniit  of  his  hy  no  means  weak  white  hands. 
As  Mrsiiio  had  always  said,  Ippolito  was  more  of  a 
mi'.n  than  aiiylxxly  suspected,  and  there  was  the 
L';ood  blood  (»f  his  i^ood  race  in  him,  and  all  the 
fearlessness. 

in  an  instant  he  had  dra,^'i;('d  b'raiicesco  l)ack- 
wards,  half  strangled,  up  the  little  decli\  ity  of  the 
trench,  and  out  into  tlu'  middle  of  the  road.  So 
tar  he  had  (htm-  nothiii'^  more,  perhaps,  than  was 
necessary  to  save  the  ;_;irl.  ihit  lia\ini;"  ,n"ot  him 
out,   the    man's    instinct    a.i^'ainst    the    wretc's    \\\\\i 

does  N'ioleiice    to  a    Woliiail,   tn((k     possessitni    ol     iiim, 

and  lioldiii;^'  l''rancesco  by  the  ba(  k  of  the  collar  in 
front  of  him  with  \\\>  ri^lit  hand,  he  struck  him 
half  a  do/en  times  (piickly  and  violently  on  the 
side   of   the    head    with    his    left    list,  till    j-'ra  iicesco. 


stunned  and  choked,  suddenly  iell  in  a  heap  in  the 


road 


('oiieetta  had  strui,^n'led  to  her  feet  at  once,  and 
stood  h'aiiin,L;' a.nainst  t  he  cdiiier  of  t  he  w  all.  With 
a  mad  horr(»r  she  saw  that  she  had  been  sa\ed  by 
the  man  she  had  wished  to  kill.     The  horse  lei.s- 


84 


COh'LHOM: 


urcly    i>ickt'(l    its    wny    ii])   tlnVwujH  \\\o  sh\\\\^i^  ^\\\\ 


stood    waitiiii-i'  ill   the   rojul. 


At 


tiiat    iiiommt.    lour    jvvWsants    coming]:    lioim 


Iroiii  tlic  hill  lanii  <  anu'  duwii  into  tlu'  road  l'ron\ 
lu'liind  the  (»!lit'r  cud  ut  tin'  lou;.;  wall  oi  \\{v  W\\\\^- 
ti'i:\\  'riu'\  natiirallv  i;laiuM'd  dow  nWiWiis  h\»V\A''(^. 
>foiu!^^  lip  towards  tlic  villa,L;<\  and  sooiiijL,^  {\\\'  prirst 
staiidiii.L;"  oxer  a  lalh'ii  man,  tlit'V  hurrird  to  \lu' 
spot.  {''raiiccsco  was  alrcail)  bc^diiniuj^'  to  u'^'t  to 
Ins  Ifct.  Ippdlilo  drew  IckU  a  lntlr  to  l)o  ready  \( 
lie  slntuld  lie  attarkr.l,  as  ln'  naturally  oxpccti'd. 
I»iit  a  iiiHinriit  lalor  tin-  prasuuts  had  rt'ron'iii/.cd 
l''raiH'('S((t.  had  hrlpod  Unn  up,  and  were  dusting  his 
(dothcs.    while   tin-y   seow  led   at    ippolito. 


It 


IS   well   th;it    \a>m   etinie.    Irn'iids.     said   <  on- 


eet  t  a  s    idea  r.    h  iw     \  <  Mec 


A    iiioiiieiit     later    and 


another    Saiaeinest-a     wamld     ha\  e     killed     another 
I*;  I, Inline,,." 

Ippolito  stared  al  her.  ilniiddoiinded  l>y  her 
speerh.  and  then  looked  at  the  '^rini  and  aii^i'v 
rae«>     (d'     the     li  ,  n     hiown    inen     who    snrroiinded 


raneeseo. 


I  lr  eoiild    not    eoiieeive   t  hat    a   womaii 


w 


lioni    he   had    sa\"'d    troin   worse  than  ih-atli  lint    a 


IllollieUl    i';4rller    sIliMl 


Id  t 


irii  niion  liiin  ins 


;taiitl 


as 


she    \v:'i.s 


ilniill 


Hilt  she  eonid  Hot  help  it.  loi"  .she  was  hall'  mad, 
a'ld  the  idea  (d'  injiiriii;;'  the  Saraeinesea  was  always 
uppermost  in  her  unsettled  luiiin.  She  had  eonie 
to  warn  I'^raincseo  ol'  dan,L;er.  hecaiise  she  had  lo\('d 


('OliLKi)SE 


ru) 


his  hrotluT,  aiul  1<)\(mI  llic  uaiiic;  iind  slic  had  (hmc 
her  iicst  In  luakc  hiui  do  a  iiiinMh'j-  then  and  thnt'. 
'*  Ilt'lli    l>*'ii    I'laiiccsco  1(1   his  hoi'sc,     she  said  to 
••  'Talu'    Idiii    itumd    to  the   l)a(d\   of 


tl 


H'    jifasaiits. 


l)(>ii    Taddcn's   hoiisr — not    tliron^li   the   viUa^c- 
voii  will   nn'ct   the  ('ai'al)inrrrs,  and   he   is   liltrdin; 


Tl 


u'V    won 


Id 


set' 


th 


KMT    woidd    lit'   (in«'stions.      (Jo 


(|i.nrkl\      -the  patrol   passed  hall'  an   Imnr  am>;   the 
next    will   conn-   out    in    hall    an    lionr   inoi'c.'" 

Slit'  i'oi-csaw  ('V('i'\  thini;".  In  a  inoiiicnt  the  men 
had  lu'lpcd  l''i-ant('sco  to  the  saddle,  and  they  were 
niovini!    aw  as.      He    had    not    ntteii'd   a.    word,   snr- 


•  rised,  hiaiised,  and  t'-rrilied  as  he  was.  and 


!S     111  I 


w 


as  i)leedin;j,-  where  ('oneetta  had  hilti'li  it.  Ills 
t'aee  was  white  with  Tear,  and  he  held  a  handker- 
chi.d'  to  his  inoiilh,  as  he  slowly  rode  away,  leavinij: 
( 'oneetta  and  I  ppolito  standiii'.;'  in  t  he  road  toL^et her. 
Ippolito  {'aeed  the  -^ii'l  <pdet!y  enoiiLih.  hut  he 
nii'ant    to  ask    lor  an   explanation   ol    smiie   sort. 

••I)id  \(Mi  think  that  I  shnidd  aeitiNe  him, 
though  he  is  what  he  is'.'"  she  askrd.  speakini,^ 
lirst.     •'  N' 


oil    saved    iiie    Iroiii    that    inl.iiiioii.' 


lieast. 


•~V«'S.  I  thank  \ttii.  tli<Mi'^h  \oii  an'  ni\'  eiieiii\. 
r.iit  dn  no;  think  that  I  value  niysejl'  higher  than 
the  liloiid  (il  iii\  l»rideL,'rooiii  whom  yon  killeil.  I 
would  railn'!'  lox"  Itndv  alio  soul   lo'^ether  than   not 


liiirt 


u  Sarai'iiieM-a 


if     I     en;lld.    kill    \«MI,    i  I'     I    e'luld, 


LHVe    vinir 


hod 


les    to   <lo''S. 


it 


eollld,  send   von    uie 


eonressed   to   liell.    if    I    «tmlo.        \nd    \ou    thoii-ht 


80 


i  OliLKOS  !•: 


that    1    would    turn    and    jhtusc   a   Coi-lcouo   when 
I   (Miuld  accusr  a   Sarafincsca'/     Vou  do  not  know 


i 


us. 


Slic  tui'ncd  from  Iniii  s<'ornfidly  Ixd'orc  lie  could 
answer  a  \vor<l.  Sli(»  had  found  hci-  little  shawl, 
and  she  drew  it  ahout^  Ik  r  face  as  she  moved 
away.  lie  stond  still  a  moment,  looking"  alter 
hci-  in  mute  surjtrise.  Then  hr  shook  his  h(»ad 
and  turned  towards  Camaldoli,  not  vet  under- 
.standing;'  that  the  licautirul  .i^irl  was  not  (juito 
sane,  lint  s]t('cidat iu'.;-  updii  wonn-n  in  <4eneral,  as 
i^ood  priests  sonn'tinics  iht  in  total  ii^noranee  of 
the    suitjrct. 

Orsino  looked  L,^rave  when  Ippolito  told  him  at 
supiiei-    wliat    had    happened. 

••The  uirl  is  maih"  he  said  sadlv,  for  lu^  was 
himself  the  cause  of  her  ncidncss.  *•  .\nd  she  is  a 
Sicilian.  W'e  understand  these  )>e(»p|c  xeiw  little, 
after  all.      1  sometimes  think  ue  ne\-er  shall." 

••  Nohoily  could  possibly  understand  that  kiml 
of   woman."'  (t'oserved    I  ppolito. 

*•  No.  I'ut  such  a  scene  as  that  on  Ihe  sta,L(e.  if 
it  were  possible,  and  the  audience  would  hiss  it,  as 
a  monstrous  improhahility.  They  wouhl  say  that 
the  uirl  would  I'all  at  the  feet,  of  her  preserver, 
forL;t!t  her  hatre(l  i'oi-  ever,  or  p(>ssil)ly  turn  it  ;dl 
aL;ainst  tlie  nmn  from  whom  slu'  had  been  saved. 
I'nfoi'tunately  things  are  diifercid,  in  real  life. 
J'oor  (,,'oncelta  will   hati-  us  all    ilui   more   becauso 


cohlI'JoM'J 


87 


Olio  of  lis  has   1u']|)<m1   Ikm-   in  daiiujov.     It  is  true 
that  slic  is   mad.      All   the   proplci  say  so." 

''  lU'causi'  slio  sits  half  the  dav  outside  the  ('ciiM'- 
icrv?  It  is  not  a  niontli  since  FcrdiiKindo  died. 
Oin'  need  not  be  mad  to  feel  a  gi'eat  sori'cnv  for  a 
whole  month." 


No.       IVrliiips    not.       I    should    like    lo    kn* 


>\V' 


w 


hat  that    fcdlow   is   here   for.      It  means  no  s^ood 
to  anyone.      I  have  no  doul)t  that  lie  is  in  (ummu- 


nieation  with  Uie  (Uitlaws.  and  she  is  (iiiite  capa- 
ble of  tryiii!4"  to  help  tiieiii  to  catch  us." 

"Then  you  really  Ixdievc  in  the  existence  of  the 
bri,ij:ands,  after  all,"  said  Ippolito,  with  a  lautxli, 
for  ()rsiuo  did  not  often  speak  of  the  outlaws 
seriously. 

"  \V(^  all  know  that  they  exist.  Ihit  we  have 
troubh^  in  realizinsjf  that  they  do.  We  know  the 
names  of  many  of  them.  l\veryl»ody  doi^s.  IJut 
of  course,  with  so  many  soldiers  alK)iit,  we  feci 
safe.      I   wish  you  couhl  cai'iy  a  weapon,  ipjjolito. 

'^  I  '.'     I  am  a  pi'i(\st.      Nobody  will  touch  me." 

"Do  not  be  too  sure.  There  are  even  i)riests 
ho    wear   a  rt'vohei"    undei'    their    cassocks   down 


?) 


w 


hei" 


)) 


I  could  hardly  carry  a  rille."  i-emark«'d  Ippolito, 


lau'd 


1111,1,^  a.L,^ain. 


And 


iman'ine  carrviiii;'  a 


luit 


e  in 


tl 


lese  ( 


lay 


one  (d'    us!      It,   sounds   like    tin;   last 


ciMitury 


ff 


n 


A  knife  is  a  very  .ijooil  weajton,  nevertludess. 


■^ 


w. 


^^^%  ^'  oO. 


s^.:\% 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


7 


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i.U      iIT 


I.I 


1.25 


21    112.5 


H:  i;£   III  2.0 


1.8 


^1^ 


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/^ 


/^^ 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


V 


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C1^     ^ 


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23  WIST  MAIN  STRICT 

WEBSTCR,N.Y.  14500 

(716)173-4503 


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o 


88 


COULEONK 


The  peasants  say  that  a  kiiitV  lias  more  shots  in 
it  than  a  rc/olvcr.  and   (Iocs  not  miss  tire." 


a 


V 


'•  I  hate  the  i  lea  oi' carrvintx  a.  weapon 

''  Ves,  no  {h)ul)t.  Ihit  snp])ose  that  matters 
liail  turned  out  a.  littU'  dilTenmtly  to-day,  and 
that  Francesco  Pa^'liuca,  instead  ot  l)eiug-  an  a])jeet 
coward,  had  tui-ned  upon  vou  and  fought  you  for 
his  life.  What  couKl  you  have  (hjue  with  ^-our 
hands  '.' "' 

"  A  ])riest  has  no  l)asiness  to  he  tigliting,"  said 
r[)[)()lito.  ''  Wdien  lie  tights,  he  must  take  the 
consecjiicnces.'' 

"  l)Ut  you  could  not  eseape  it  to-(hiy.  The  cause 
was  just  and  urgent.  As  a  man,  vou  eould  not  have 
done  otherwise." 

••('(U'laiidy  not.  1  admit  that,  and  the  feHow 
Avas  seared.  Jle  had  a  Wiiudn^ster  rifie  across  his 
baidc.  It  got  into  the  way  when  I  twisttnl  his 
collar.  I  renu'tnher.  Ho  you  know  that  1  never 
stiaudv  anyone  Ixd'ore?  It  was  rather  a  curious 
sensation."' 

"  \'ou  have  struck  nu'  often  (Miough,"  laughed 
Or.  ino.  ••  \'ou  used  to  tight  like  a  wildcat  when 
we  were  little  hoys.  It  is  a  i)ity  that  ycju  turned 
[)riest." 

'•  I  am  vtM'v  glad  I  did."  said  Ipi>olito.  "  Iicsides, 
1  do  not  like  lighting.  It  was  dilferent  when  we 
were  <'!iihli'iMi   and    puniiutdh'd   eacdi   other." 

''  Look  hert^,"  said  Ursino.     "  I  shall  feel  anxious 


CORLEONE 


89 


about  you  aftor  this  a,tt'iiir.  Uuless  you  \Vill  cany 
souK^  \vcuii)on,  L  shall  have  you  t'scortcd  to  Santa 
Vittoi'ia  and  back  by  a  carabinccu'." 

"  How  absurd  I  " 

''  1  will,  1  assure  you.  If  you  were  like  that 
miserable  Francesco  PaL^liuca,  I  should  send  four 
men  with  you.  Ihit  I  know  that  you  could  make 
a  pretty  g'ood  defence  alone,  if  you  had  anything 
to  tight  with.'' 

"Of  course  if  you  insist  in  that  way,  I  must. 
I  utterly  refuse  to  be  followed  about  by  soldiers. 
It  is  too  ridiculous.  Have  you  got  a  knife  ?  Some- 
thing that  is  easy  to  carry  — '' 

''Two  or  three,"  answered  Orsiuo.  ''There  is  a 
yery  nice  bowi'^.  knife  —  oiu^  of  those  American 
things  nuule  in  England.  It  is  conyenient,  for  it 
has  a  cross-hilt  and  a  leathern  sheath." 

He  rose  from  the  table  and  oj^ened  a  drawer  in 
an  old-fashion(Hl  press,  from  which  he  produced 
the  weapon   in   (piestion. 

"TIhm'c  is  a  saddler  in  Rome  who  gets  these 
things,'"  h(^  observed,  showing  it  to  his  brother. 
''  \'ou  see  it  is  really  a  dagger,  for  tlier(^  is  no 
spring.  It  is  made  sobd  and  straight  and  would 
go  through  anything,  I  should  think.  I^ook  at 
the  thickness  of  the  back  of  the  blade,  will  you  \* 
And  the  [)()int  is  extremely  line.  Wnx  could  en- 
grave with  it,  and  yet  it  is  a,s  strong  as  the  rest." 

Ippolito  turned  the  knife  over  a,nd  over. 


h 


1»0 


rojlLEOSK 


"At  r.ll  events  it  will  W  iisefui  in  cutting  up  the 
bits  I't  leather  I  use  for  mending  the  okl  orgcan," 
lie  ob^erved.     "  ^\\'  i>'>eket  knife  is  of  hardly  any 


Vi^e. 


He  she.ithed  the  knife  blade  and  dropped  it  into 
the  deei>  side  piH'ket  <>f  his  cassoek. 

•'IiiKU'ine  nie  carrying  a  bowie  knife!"  he  ex- 
ehiirned.   still  inelined  to  laugh. 

■•  Imagine  tln'  feelings  of  Franeesco  Pagliuca  this 
riftei'iiotiii.  if  he  had  thought  you  iuul  one  in  your 
I'-^krt.  when  you  were  behind  liini  and  twisting 
h:s  eollar."     ( >rsiuo  smiled  grimly. 

■•  My  hriii'ls  were  good  enough  for  such  a  beast/' 
answered  Ippolito.  in  a  tone  of  disgust. 

Thus  it  was  tliat  Ippolito  began  to  go  armed, 
iLUoh  au'aiiist  his  will,  for  he  took  his  profession  as 
a  priest  and  a  man  of  })eace  seriously.  Orsino  was 
not  eve-n  tlu-n  half  safisHtMl,  and  intended  before 
long  t<»  try  and  })ersuade  him  to  carry  a  revolver 
iii-tead  <d'  the  kinfe. 

l)Ut  u]i  at  Santa  \'ittoria  therc^  was  niucdi  talk 
of  another  sort  on.  that  evening.  As  generally 
ha}»[>t'!is  in  sueli  eases  in  Sicily,  thc^  carabineers 
au'l  thf  ^oldiers,  though  on  the  lookout  for 
Kraneeseo  I'agliuea,  were  in  profound  ignorance  of 
thf  faet  tluit  he  was  now  lodging  for  the  second 
ni.rht  at  the  house  of  Taihh'o  the  grocer,  thougli 
thej-e  w;i,s  now  liai'dly  a  nmn  in  the  vilhige  wdio 
did  not  know  it.    The  soldiius  in  Sicilv  are  nuitched 


con  LEONE 


91 


as  one  to  a  tliousand  against  a  whole  population 
of  the  most  reticent  people  in  tlie  world,  bound 
together  by  tliat  singular  but  half-defined  force, 
which  is  the  niatia.  Knowing  the  country  perfectly 
and  well  accpiainted  with  the  unchanging  hours  of 
the  regular  patrols  in  the  neighbourhood,  Fran- 
cesco might  have  stayed  ten  days  in  Santa  Vit- 
toria  in  s[)ite  of  tlie  soldiers,  even  if  he  luid  been 
guilty  of  the  crimes  which  he  did  not  at  all  meim  to 
commit.  Not  a,  liunmn  being  would  liavc  informed 
against  him,  and  if  anyone  had  ])etrayed  him,  the 
betrayer's  own  life  wouhl  not  have  lieen  worth 
much.  The}'  did  not  think  any  the  better  of  him, 
nor  any  the  worse,  because  he  was  innocent  of  any 
misdeed.  lie  was  a  part  of  the  idea  of  the  mafia, 
a  born  Sicilian,  who,  somehow,  had  been  obliged  to 
give  up  his  birthright  to  Romans,  who  were  as 
nnudi  foreigners  to  tlu^  people  of  Santa  Vittoria  as 
I'higlishmen  could  have  been.  It  was  their  duty, 
to  ;i,  m;ui,  for  Sicily's  sake  and  their  own,  to  stand 
bv  him  iis  a  Sicilian  against  all  authority  whatever. 
i»esides,  they  knew  him,  tlie  Komans  had  killed  his 
brotlier,  whom  they  had  also  known,  and  ])otli  he 
and  his  had  always  heljx'd  the  outlaws  against  the 
government.  The  peasants  riMuembered  and  told 
their  chihU'cn  lu)\v  tlu^  Corleone  brothers  had  om-e 
led  a,  dozen  carabineers  about  the  hills  for  two  da.ys 
in  search  ol'  the  brigands,  taking  good  care  not  to 
catch  them.     It  was  not  probable  that  the  soldiers 


liii^ 


;>2 


COHLEOXE 


should  ever  t^vt  ;iiiy  iiifoiiuiitioii  nL;'aiiist  sucli  popu- 
lar persons,  cxci'pi  by  str;iia,i>'ein  or  accidtMit. 

And  now  i^'rancrsco  sat  in  a  loni;'  nj)per  room  at 
the  hack  ol'  Tathh'o's  honsc,  hathin^'  l,\is  soi'O  face 
with  vine.n'ar  and  watei'  and  telling'  his  story  t(  the 
'^Toc'or  and  nis  hrothcr,  in  his  (»\vn  way.  And  in 
nianv  hmnhh'  little  houses,  the  men  were,  talking  in 
low  tones,  telling  each  other  how  the  'priest  of  the 
Saracinesca,'  had  fallen  upon  I'l'aneeseo  ragliucii 
after  they  had  (piari'elled  over  l''erdinanilo\s  grave, 
and  hail  trt-aehei-ously  twisted  his  collar  and  beaten 
him  hefore  he  could  g"t  iiis  gun  into  his  hand. 
And  they  distaissed  the  matter  in  whispers.  And 
one  man,  who  liad  loved  {''erdinaudo,  said  nothing, 
but  went  out  (piietly  from  his  house  and  walked 
down  over  the  black  lands  and  set  lire  to  three  hay- 
stacks on  the  Camiddoli  instate,  because  the  corn 
was  not  yot  harvcstt^l,  and  tluM'e  was  nothing  else 
to  ])ui'n  at  that-  time  of  year,  in  tlu^  morning 
everyone  heard  of  it  and  was  glad,  but  no  one  ever 
knew  who  had  set  iii'e  to  the  hay,  for  tlu^  man  who 
did  it  did  not  t(dl  his  wife. 

Uut  neither  did  Coiu-etta.  tell  hiu-  fa,ther  truly 
what  had  happened  to  her.  She  had  l)een  at  the 
cemetery,  she  sa.id,  and  the  two  gentlemen  had 
met,  the  priest  and  tiie  layman,  and  had  (piar- 
relled,  sh(^  knew  liot  about  what,  and  the  priest 
of  the  Saracinesca-  had  caught  l"'ra,ncesco  I'agliuca 
unawares  by  the  neck.     So  her  story  corresponded 


COELEONE 


93 


with  that  of  tlie  peasants  and  with  that  of  Fran- 
cesco. 

For  two  reasons  slie  couhl  not  tell  her  father 
the  truth.  If  he  had  known  it,  he  would  never 
have  allowed  her  to  leave  the  village  alone  again. 
And  he  wonld  most  certain Iv  have  risen  from  the 
table,  and  would  have  gone  straiglit  to  Taddeo's 
house,  where  Francesco  was,  to  kill  him  at  once, 
though  Don  Atanasio  was  an  old  man,  having 
married  very  late  in  life.  It  was  true  that  since 
it  was  all  over,  and  she  liad  cast  tlie  bhime  u})on 
Ippolito,  the  hatred  of  her  offended  maidenhood 
for  her  cowardly  assailant  w[is  slowly  and  snrely 
waking;  and  her  white  cheeks  blushed  sciirlet  as 
thougli  they  had  been  struck,  when  she  thought 
of  it  all.  Ihit  it  was  better  that  her  father  should 
not  know,  and  slu'  ludd  her  ])eace.  It  was  hardest 
of  all  to  feel  that  she  had  ahnost  had  Francesco's 
rirte  in  her  hands,  and  that  if  he  had  not  assailed 
her,  tliere  miglit  by  this  time  have  been  one  Sara- 
cinesca  less  in  the  world. 

It  would  hav(^  done  her  good  to  see  the  hay- 
stacks flaniing  down  in  the  vtiUey,  and  it  would 
liave  brought  a  smile  of  satisfaction  to  lier  tragic 
face  to  hav(^  heard  what  the  peasants  were  whis- 
pering to  one  another  in  ail  the  little  houses  of  tlie 
village  that  night. 

No  one  said  that  it  \\as  a  shame  tV)r  an  armed 
man  to  have  been  beaten  by  an   unarmed  priest. 


ii 


94 


COllLKOyE 


Thoy  IV'lt  personally  injuiTMl  ])y  what  they  called 
the  treachery  of  the  latter  in  ehokiiiLC  his  antago- 
nist, and  they  softly  cursed  the  Uonnms,  and 
vowed  1o  hurt  them  it  they  could.  Generations 
of  their  fatliers  had  known  .^-ene rations  of  the 
Corleone,  luid  been  .ground  and  rack-rented  by 
them,  and  had  resisted  their  extortions  with  a 
eunnin,^'  that  had  ofttui  been  successful.  liut  now^ 
that  the  Pa.u'liuca  had  lost  their  birthright,  that 
was  all  forgotten  in  tlu>  fact  that  they  were  Sicil- 
ians, injured  by  Romans.  N'o  one  said  in  defence 
of  the  Saraeinesca  that  San  (liacinto  had  paid  the 
Pagliucamore  than  twic(^  the  actual  value  of  ('amal- 
doli.  in  the  eyes  )f  the  peasants  their  old  mas- 
ters had  l)een  ignoiuiniously  ejected  from  their 
home  by  Romans,  and  Fertlinando  had  done  a 
brave  and  honourable  deed  in  trvini'-  to  resist 
them.  It  was  the  duty  of  (u^ery  good  Sicilian 
to  st;ind  by  tliv>  I'agliuca  against  the  Rcmians  and 
against  the  authorities,  come  what  irught.  If  this 
young  Ronmn  i)riest  had  the  oyer])earinG:  eounifje 
to  beat  a  Ragliuca  on  the  high  road  in  broad  day- 
light, Avliat  nught  not  his  t;dl.  black4)rowe(l  brother 
be  ex])ected  to  do,  or  what  deed  of  violence  might 
not  follow  at  the  hands  of  tlie  greydiaired  giant 
who  had  l)een  at  ('amal(h)li,  and  who  had  mo- 
mentarily terrorized  ev(M'yonc?  No  one's  life  or 
]»r(»perty  was  safe  while  the  Saraeinesca  remained 
in  the  couidry.    And  they  m<'ant  to  remain.     They 


COR LEONE 


95 


had  cut  down  the  brush  around  the  house  so  that 
no  one  couhl  creep  up  with  a  ritle  under  safe  cover, 
and  they  had  strengthened  the  gate  and  were  restor- 
ing the  tower.     They  had  turned  the  monastery 
into  a  barrack  for  the  cara])irieers,  and  had  cpuir- 
tered  a  company  of  infantry  in  the  viUage.     Their 
power  and  their  evident  influence  in  Rome,  since 
they  had  obtained  troops  for  their  protection,  made 
them  ten  times  more  hateful  to  men  who  hated  all 
authority.    They  wished  tlmt  Ippolito  liad  wounded 
Francesco  slightly  with   some  weapon.      Then  he 
might   have  been  arrested,   and   there  was   not  a 
man  in  the  village  who  would   have   said  a  word 
in  his  favour.     Many  would  have   perjured  them- 
selves to  testify  agaiust  him,  in  the  hope  that  he 
might  really  be  sent  to  prison.     The  fact  that  he 
was  a  priest  Avent  for  nothing.     He  was  not  their 
own  priest,  and  nu)re  than  one  churchman  had  been 
in  trouble  in  Sicily,  before  now. 


» ; 


^>i: 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

Fkaxcesco  was  no  more  able  to  understancl  Con- 
cetta's  conduct  than  lj)polito  himself.  He  had 
exj)ected  a  very  different  termination  to  the  affair, 
for  he  kn<'\\^  wtdl  enough  that  if  the  four  ])easants 
had  caught  him  ;is  Jp[)olito  liad,  they  would  very 
probably  have  torn  him  limb  from  limb,  in  the  most 
literal  and  barbarous  sense  of  tlie  word,  in  spite 
of  any  symi)athy  they  might  have  felt  for  his 
family  until  then.  IU\  vaguely  understood  that 
Concetta  had  saved  iiim  for  liis  dead  In'other's 
sake,  and  out  of  liatred  for  the  Saracinesca;  but 
there  was  a  sort  of  reckless  self-sacrifice  in  her  act 
which  it  was  bevond  his  cowardice  and  selfishness 
to  comprehend.  He  rarely  addressed  the  saints, 
but  he  inwardly  tlianked  them  for  liis  safety  p.s  lie 
rode  round  the  outskirts  of  the  village  and  the 
back  of  Taddeo's  house.  He  was  still  in  a  tremor 
of  fear,  but  he  knew  that  he  conld  easily  twist  and 
exaggerate  the  storv  of  the  ignominious  beating  he 
bad  received,  and  thereby  account  for  his  i)a]lor 
and  his  luu'vousness.  Wo  knew  that  anything 
would  be  believed  against  the  Saraidnesca. 

m 


COR LEONE 


97 


It  would  be  liurd  to  give  a  single  reason  for  his 
having  chosen  tt;  come  up  to  Santa  Vittoria  to  tind 
a  lodging,  when  lie  had  left  Eonie  in  order  to  see 
Aliandra  in  Eandazzo.  His  timidity  might  have 
had  something  to  do  with  his  decision,  making 
him  prefer  the  village  where  he  was  sure  of  find- 
ing friends,  whatever  he  might  do,  to  the  large 
town  where  tliere  was  no  one  upon  whom  he  could 
count.  He  had  also  told  Basili,  when  he  had  been 
to  see  him,  that  he  had  business  in  Santa  Vittoria. 
Vaguely,  too,  he  guessed  that  Tebaldo  might  know 
where  he  was  and  follow  him.  But  he  had  not 
the  slightest  intention  of  doing  any  harm  to  the 
Saracinesca,  of  whom,  in  his  heart,  he  had  always 
been  afraid. 

As  soon  as  Concetta  had  spoken,  he  had  known 
that  he  was  safe,  tliougli  it  was  long  before  the 
effect  of  his  fright  had  passed  off.  After  wli.at 
she  had  said,  he  knew  that  nc  one  in  Santa  Vittoria 
would  believe  any  statement  which  Ippolito  might 
make  about  the  encounter,  and  he  set  himself  to 
enlarge  upon  the  impression  she  had  given  so  as 
to  show  himself  in  the  most  advantageous  light 
possible. 

He  was  not  injured,  and  his  bruises,  thnngli 
painful,  had  not  disfigured  him,  for  Ippolito  Juid 
struck  him  on  the  side  of  tlie  head.  As  for  his 
lip,  he  told  Taddeo  that  Ipp  lito  liad  at  first  picked 
up  a  stone  and  wounded  him  in  tlie  mouth  with  it. 


VOL.   II. 


II 


98 


COULKOSE 


5  „. 
I:-- 


TiuldiM)  was  ready  to  Ix'licvj'  anything,  and  so  was 
his  brother,  the  t';it  sacristan,  wlio  liad  waited  for 
Franeeseo  in  the  l)ri<lh'  patli  until  a  hite  hour,  and 
irrievouslv  hiniented  having  missed  tlie  iiglit,  for 
in  spite  of  iiis  fat  and  his  odd  smile  and  the  east 
in  his  eye,  he  was  fond  of  fighting  for  its  own 
sake,  and  no  coward,  except  in  the  presence  of  what 
he  believed  to  be  supernatural  and  therefore  irre- 
sistil)le. 

Having  eaten  his  supper  and  refreshed  his 
spirits  and  nerves  witli  some  of  Taddeo's  strongest 
wine,  Francesco  went  to  sleep  in  the  great,  old- 
fashioned  trt\stle  bed,  in  sheets  that  smelt  of  bv- 
ender.  thouu:li  they  were  of  coarse  linen.  And 
early  in  the  morning  he  got  up,  feeling  almost 
quite  himself,  and  rode  down  to  Kandazzo  in  the 
early  dawn.  An  uncomfortabh^  sensation  assailed 
him  as  he  passed  the  wall  of  the  cemetery,  but  he 
looked  away  and  rode  on,  thinking  of  Aliandra 
Basili,  and  concocting  the  story  he  should  tell  her 
to  account  for  his  wounded  lip.  Of  all  things,  he 
desired  to  make  a  good  impression  on  her  and  her 
father,  for  he  had  come  from  Home  with  the  deter- 
mination to  marry  her  if  he  could. 

It  did  not  seem  impossible,  with  Tebaldo  out  of 
the  way,  for  she  liked  him,  and  Basili  himself 
would  think  it  a  good  thing  for  his  daughter  to 
marry  a  Pagliuca.  Francesco's  native  cowardice 
had  kept  him  out  of  the  sort  of  (hii'ing  mischief 


COltLEOXE 


99 


wliioh  gives  a  man  a  bad  oliaracter.  Ho  did  not 
gaml)le,  he  did  not  drink,  and  he  eouhl  have  a 
title,  of  course,  according  to  tlie  southern  custom 
of  distributing  that  sort  of  social  distinction 
through  all  the  members  of  a  family.  Aliandra 
might  do  far  worse,  Uasili  thought  ;  and  though 
he  knew  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  get 
Tebaldo  if  she  could,  he  also  knew  Tebaldo  well 
enough  to  judge  that,  as  the  head  of  his  family,  lie 
would  try  to  make  an  ambitious  and  rich  marriage. 
He  frankly  told  Francesco  that  he  had  little  influ- 
ence with  his  daughter,  but  that  so  far  as  he  him- 
self was  concerned,  he  ai)proved  of  the  marriage. 
Francesco  had  an  equal  share  of  the  small  family 
fortune  with  his  brother  and  sister,  and  it  had  been 
increased  by  the  addition  of  Ferdinando's,  since 
the  latter  had  left  no  will.  In  former  times  Basil i 
had  warned  his  daughter  against  the  brothers,  but 
their  existence  had  changed  since  then.  They 
now  had  a  social  position,  and  friends  in  Rome, 
and  were  altogether  much  more  deserving  of  con- 
sideration. 

Francesco  found  the  notary's  broken  leg  a  dis- 
tinct advantage  in  his  courtship;  for  Basil i  Avas,  of 
course,  helpless  to  move,  in  his  room  upstairs,  and 
when  the  young  man  had  paid  him  a  visit,  he  and 
Aliandra  had  the  house  to  themselves  without  fear 
of  interru[)tion.  Then  the  two  could  stay  as  long 
as  they  pleased  in  the  sitting-room  below,  with  the 


ill 


*'. 


100 


con LEONE 


blinds  half  '^•losed  and  hooked  together,  and  it  was 
a  oool  and  et  ])laoe  just  so  liigli  above  the  street 
that  people  could  not  look  in  as  they  passed  along 
outside. 

Aliandra  had  been  flattered  by  the  young  man's 
pursuit,  as  was  na,tural,  but  she  had  by  no  means 
given  up  tlie  idea  of  marrying  Tebaldo.  She 
would  have  preferred  that  Francesco  should  not 
come  all  the  way  down  from  Santa  Vittoria  every 
day,  but  sh(^  could  not  refuse  to  see  him  when  he 
-•ame.  She  had  temporarily  returned,  with  a  good 
deal  of  pleasure  and  amusement,  to  the  primitive 
social  state  in  which  she  luul  been  brought  up, 
and  slie  was  no  longer  able  to  t(dl  a  servant  to  say 
that  she  was  not  at  home.  Gesualda,  the  maid  of 
all  work,  would  not  hav^e  understood  any  such 
order,  besides,  Francesco  always  nuide  a  pre- 
tence of  having  come  to  see  how  liasili  was  doimj, 
and  invarial)ly  went  upstairs  to  the  hitter's  room, 
as  soon  as  he  (Mitercd  tlu^  liouse.  In  the  middle  of 
tlie  day  he  went  to  the  inn  for  his  dinner,  becuise 
Aliandra  dined  with  lier  fathcu',  but  an  hour  later 
Ue  returned  and  stayed  until  it  was  time  for  him 
to  ride  away  in  order  to  reach  Santa  Vittoria  be- 
foKi  d;irk.  It  was  a  long  ride,  and  as  lie  rode  the 
sanu»  liorse  every  day  he  saved  his  animal's  strengtli 
as  much  as  possible. 

To-day,  ev(U'ytliing  ha])pen(Ml  as  usual.     At  the 
accustomed  hour  he  appeared,  put  up  liis  horse  in 


I 


COliLEONE 


101 


Basili's  stable  ])esi(Ie  the  notary's  brown  mare, 
flicked  the  dust  from  his  boots  and  gaiters,  and 
went  in  to  see  Aliandra  and  her  father.  The 
stable  was  in  a  little  yard  on  one  side  of  the 
house,  entered  oy  a  wooden  gate  from  the  street, 
and  accessible  also  from  the  house  itself  by  a  side 
door  which  led  down  three  or  four  steps. 

The  notary  was  in  a  good  humour,  for  the  doctor 
said  that  he  was  doing  well,  and  hoped  to  get  him 
on  his  feet  again  in  a  shorter  time  than  had  at  first 
been  expected.  He  was  beginning  to  like  Fran- 
cesco because  the  young  man  took  some  pains  to 
amuse  him,  having  an  object  to  gain,  and  treated 
him  with  even  more  deference  than  the  principal 
notary  of  a  provincial  town  had  a  right  to  exptnyi:. 
It  was  amusing  to  be  told  about  llonu^,  and  to 
hear  a  great  many  things  ex])lained  which  had 
always  been  more  or  less  a  mystery  to  one  who 
had  never  left  the  island.  It  was  pleasant,  too,  to 
hear  of  his  daughter's  triumphs  from  one  who  had 
assisted  at  them  all,  and  avIio  now  spoke  with  the 
authority  of  a  man  of  the  world,  re[)resenting  the 
oi)inion  of  the  Roman  aristocracy. 

Now  and  then,  Avhen  Francesco  S])oke  of  some 
especial  passage  in  an  opera  by  which  Aliandra 
had  raised  a  storm  of  enthusiasm,  liasili  would  ask. 
her  what  tlie  music  was  like;  and  then,  without 
effort  or  affiH'tation,  as  though  it  was  a  ])leasure  to 
her,  her  splendid  voice  burst  out,  true  and  clear 


if 

\f' 

I  ii ' 

i"           '  ■  .  : 

102 


COE  LEONE 


and  fresh,  and  sang  what  the  okl  man  wished  to 
hear.  Then  the  peasants  and  people  passing 
through  the  street  woukl  stop  to  listen,  and  even 
the  ugly  Gesualda,  peeling  potatoes  or  shelling 
pease  in  the  kitchen,  paused  in  her  work  and  had 
a  vision  of  something  beautiful  and  far  above  her 
poor  I'ompreliension. 

On  tliis  morning,  Francesco  did  his  best  to  be 
agreeable,  thougli  his  head  ached  and  his  lip  was 
swollen,  lie  refused  to  say  much  about  the  latter. 
Aliandra  was  sure  to  bear,  in  a  day  or  two,  tlie 
story  wliick  the  peasants  would  tell  eacli  other 
about  the  affair,  and  which  would  certainly  re- 
dound to  liis  credit.  He  said  that  he  had  met 
with  a  slight  accident  in  going  liomc^,  and  when 
Aliandra  [)ressed  liim  for  an  account  of  it,  he  said 
tluit  it  was  nothing  worth  mentioning  and  turned 
the  sul)ject  quickly,  lie  did  not  wisli  to  let  her 
know  that  he  had  b(HMi  worsted  by  a  Saracinesca. 
Tlie  peasants  would  be  sure  to  concoct  a  story  of 
treachery,  much  more  to  liis  own  glory  tlian  any- 
tliing  lie  could  put  together,  and  whi(di  would 
probably  cont;iin  a  number  of  details  that  might 
not  agree  wiLli  those  of  his  own  invention. 

Aliandra  did  not  ask  any  more  (piestions  about 
it,  even  after  they  had  gone  downstairs  and  sat 
talking  in  thc^  front  room  as  usual.  Her  feeling 
I'or  him  had  not  changed  at  all.  She  was  not  in 
love  with  him  any  moi-e  than  before  she  had  left 


CORLEONE 


103 


Rome,  but  lie  still  attracted  her  in  the  same 
rather  unaccountable  way,  and  she  never  felt 
quite  sure  of  what  he  might  do  or  say  when  they 
were  alone  together.  Yet  she  felt  safer  in  being 
with  him  in  her  father's  house  than  she  had  felt 
in  Kome,  even  under  the  protection  of  the  Signora 
Barbuzzi. 

He  pressed  her  to  marry  him,  at  every  meeting. 
Sometimes  she  laughed  at  him,  sometimes  she  gave 
reasons  why  she  could  not  acce^it  him,  sometimes 
she  refused  to  listen  altogetlier,  and  told  him  that 
he  must  go  away  if  he  could  not  talk  more  reason- 
ably. Bnt  he  was  not  easily  discouraged;  he  knew 
how  to  make  love  better  than  Tebaldo,  and  after 
all,  she  liked  him.  Tebaldo,  when  Avith  her,  was 
a})t  to  be  either  cross-tempered,  or  over-elated,  and 
almost  too  much  at  his  ease,  for  he  was  far  too  much 
moved  by  lier  mere  presence,  and  by  the  atmosphere 
tliat  surrounded  her,  to  have  control  of  his  words 
and  his  looks,  as  he  had  when  he  was  with  Miss 
SlaybiU'k.  He  was  often  abrupt  with  Aliandra, 
and  there  are  few  outward  faults  Avhich  a  woman 
dislikes  more  in  a  possible  husi)and  than  abrupt- 
ness. Yet  Aliandra  perpetually  did  her  best  to 
please  Tebaldo.  Francesco,  on  the  other  hand, 
used  every  means  in  Ids  power  to  please  lier.  It 
was  no  wonder  that,  she  liked  him  better  than  his 
l)n)ther.  He  had  UKUiy  of  tlie  ways  which  ajjpeal 
to  all  women,  and  lie  was  ch^ver  at  hiding  tliose 


104 


COItLICOXE 


■Hi 

m 


weaknesses  which  they  deppise  quite  as  heartily 
as  men  can.  A  Ijorn  coward  iiot  only  fears  danger, 
but  fears,  above  all  things,  to  show  that  he  is  afraid, 
and  is  keenly  aware  of  anything,  even  in  con- 
versation, which  can  show  him  in  liis  true  light. 
If  he  is  skilful,  as  well  as  cowardly,  he  will  often 
succeed  in  deceiving  brave  men,  who  are  the  least 
suspicious,  into  the  oelief  that  lie  is  as  fearless  as 
thev.  He  hnds  it  far  easier  to  deceive  women, 
who  always  attach  nnich  more  importance  to  mere 
Avords  than  men  do. 

It  was  a  Avarm  and  sultry  afternoon,  for  the 
wind  was  from  the  southeast  and  had  in  it  some- 
thing of  the  suffocating  fumes  of  the  volcano  over 
which  it  blew.  The  blinds  were  drawn  together 
and  hooki'd,  in  the  Italian  way,  so  as  to  let 
in  [jlenty  of  air  and  little  light.  Aliandra  had 
establish(Ml  herself  on  tlie  stiff,  old-fashioned 
sofa,  piittini;'  up  her  feet,  to  be  more  at  her  ease, 
and  Francesco  sat  bi'side  her,  close  to  the  window, 
snujkiug  and  talking  to  her.  It  was  very  quiet. 
Now  ami  then  fo()tste[)s  passed  along  tlie  street 
outside,  and  soiiietimes  the  sound  of  peasants' 
voices  was  lieard,  discussing  prices  or  some  bit  of 
local  gossip.  Krances(;o  had  eaten  liis  dinner  at 
the  inn-  and  had  conu'  ])aek.  I>asili  was  dozing  up- 
stairs on  his  cou(di,  and  (lesuahhi,  th(^  maid  of  all 
work,  was  ];robjd)ly  eating  (iranges  in  the  kitchen, 
or  ash'ep  in  hei'  chair,  with  the',  cat  on  Ikm'  knees. 


COIiLEONE 


105 


There  is  nothing  so  peaceful  in  the  whole  world  as 
the  calm  that  descends  on  all  things  in  the  far 
south  after  the  niiddav  meal. 

"This  is  better  than  Rome,"  observed  Francesco, 
looking  at  Aliandra's  handsome  profile. 

"For  a  change  —  yes,"  answered  the  singer, 
idly.     "I  should  not  care  for  it  always." 

"  I  can  imagine  that  it  might  be  dull,  if  I  were 
alone." 

Aliandra  turned  her  head  slowly  and  looked  at 
him  gravely  for  a  moment.     Then  she  smiled. 

"If  you  were  alone  here,"  she  said,  "you  would 
not  have  the  excitement  of  taking  care  of  a  father 
witli  a  broken  leg,  as  I  have." 

"Excitement!"  Francesco  laughed.  "Yes.  I 
imagined  what  your  existence  would  be  like,  so  I 
came  all  the  way  from  Home  to  help  you  pass  the 
time." 

"How  merciful!  But  I  am  grateful,  for  though 
I  love  my  fatlier  dearly,  a  broken  leg  as  a  subject 
of  conversation,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  leaves 
something  to  be  desired." 

"  I  sui)pose  tlie  old  gentleman  is  anxious  about 
himself  and  talks  a,bout  his  leg  all  the  time." 

"When  you  are  not  tliere,  he  generally  does. 
You  do  him  good,  I  am  sure." 

"  And  so  you  are  grateful  to  me  for  coming? 
Really?" 

''  Yes.     What  did  you  expect?  " 


■  I 
I 


106 


COB LEONE 


^^I  would  Tcatlior  have  less  gratitude  and  more 
—  what  shall  I  say?" 

"Anything  you  like  —  within  certain  limits!" 
Aliandra  laughed  softly. 

"I  might  say  too  much,  and  that  might  offend 
you.  Or  too  little,  and  that  would  certainly 
bore  you." 

"Could  you  not  say  just  enough?  Sometimes 
you  say  it  very  well.  You  can  be  tactful  when 
you  like." 

"  If  I  say  that  I  should  like  more  love,  you  will 
think  it  too  mucli.  If  I  say  affection,  it  is  too 
little,  and  must  seem  ridiculous." 

Aliandra  looked  away  from  liim,  and  rested  her 
liead  against  the  hard  back  of  the  sofa  for  a 
moment. 

"Why  do  you  wisli  to  marry  me?"  she  asked 
suddenly,  without  turning  to  liim.  "You  could 
do  nnich  better,  I  am  sure." 

"  A  man  cannot  do  better  tlian  marry  tlie  woman 
he  loves,"  said  Francesco,  softly. 

"He  can  marry  a  woman  who  loves  him,"  sug- 
gested Aliandra,  laughing  again. 

"You  cannot  be  serious  very  long,"  he  retorted. 
"  That  is  one  reason  why  I  love  you.  I  hate  seri- 
ous people." 

"I  know  you  do,  and  tliat  niakes  me  doubt 
wlietlier  you  (%'in  ever  possil)ly  be  serious  yourself. 
Now,  to  marrv  a  nuiu  who  is  not  seri(3us  —  " 


CORLEONE 


107 


"  Or  a  woman  who  is  not,"  interrupted  the  young 
man. 

"Is  folly,"  said  Aliandra,  completing  her  sen- 
tence. 

"  Then  neither  you  nor  I  should  ever  marry  at 
all.  That  is  the  conclusion,  evidently.  But  you 
began  by  asking  me  why  I  wish  to  marry  you.  I 
answered  you.  It  is  simple.  I  love  you,  and  I 
have  lovifed  you  almost  since  you  were  a  child. 
You  know  something  about  my  life  in  Home,  do 
you  not?  Have  you  ever  lieard  that  I  cared  for 
any  other  woman?" 

"How  sliould  I  liear?  I  am  not  of  your  world, 
and  though  you  know  how  I  live,  I  know  nothing 
of  what  you  do  when  you  are  not  with  me.  How 
should  I?  Have  I  allowed  any  of  the  men  in 
society  to  mak(^  m}'-  acquaintance  ?  You  speak  as 
thou<di  r  liad  friends  who  mis^ht  be  friends  of 
yours,  yet  you  know  that  I  have  none.  What  you 
say  may  be  quite  true,  but  I  have  no  means  of 
knowing." 

"There  is  Tebaldo,"  said  Francesco.  "He 
knows  all  about  me,  and  Avould  not  be  likel}^  to 
attribute  to  me  any  virtue  which  I  do  not  possess. 
Has  he  ever  told  you  that  I  Avas  making  love  to 
anyone  else?" 

"  No,"  answered  Aliandra,  thoughtfully.  "  Tliat 
is  true." 

"And  he  hates  me,"  observed  Francesco.     "He 


108 


CORLEONE 


Avould   not   lose    a   chance  of   abusing "  me,   I    am 


I 


sure. 


?j 


Aliandra  made  no  answer  at  first,  for  what  he 
said  Avas  quite  true,  though  sue  did  not  care  to 
admit  it. 

"You  two  are  antipathetic  to  each  other,"  slie 
said  at  hist,  using  the  phrase  because  it  was  vague 
and  ini[)lied  no  fault  on  either  side.  "You  will 
never  agree.     I  am  sorry." 

"  Why  should  you  care,  whether  we  agree  or 
not?" 

"JJecause  I  like  you  both.  I  should  wish  you 
to  be  good  friends." 

"  I  am  glad  you  include  us  both  in  one  cate- 
gory," said  Francesco.  "You  say  that  you  like  us 
both." 

"Well  — what  of  that?" 

"Tliere  is  a  l)eautiful  indifference  about  the 
expression.  If  T(d)aldo  is  satisfied,  I  sup])Ose 
that  [  should  be.  J  hit  I  am  not.  I  am  made  of 
differeiit  stuff.  I  (*;innot  say,  '[  love  you '  in  one 
breath,  and  '\  will  not  marry  vou  '  in  the  next." 

Aliandra  start(Ml  percei)tibly  and  looked  at  him. 
lie  had  a  well-aifected  air  of  righteous  contem[)t. 

"I  am  in  ea,rnest,"  he  continued,  as  she  said 
nothing.  ''I  do  not  know  whether  I  could  do 
better  for  myself,  as  you  say,  or  not.  I  suppose 
you  mean  that  I  might  marry  the  daughter  of  some 
Konmn  prince,  with  a  dowry  and  sixteen  ([uarter- 


CORLEONE 


109 


ings.  Perhaps  I  might,  for  T  have  a  good  name 
of  my  own  and  an  equal  share  of  the  property.  I 
do  not  know  and  I  do  not  care,  and  I  shall  cer- 
tainly never  try  to  make  any  such  marriage,  because 
I  will  either  marry  you  or  no  one.  I  will  not,  I 
could  not  —  nothing  could  induce  me,  neither  fort- 
une, nor  position,  nor  anything  else  in  the  world." 

He  had  a  very  convincing  way  of  speaking  when 
he  chose,  and  for  the  first  time,  perhax^s,  Aliandra 
hesitated  and  thought  that  she  might  do  worse 
than  accept  him  for  a  ■\usband.  She  thought  him 
handsome  as  he  sat  beside  her,  leaning  forward  a 
little  and  speaking  earnestly,  and  she  mistook  his 
masculine  vitality  for  real  manliness,  which  is  a 
common  mistake  with  young  women  of  little  ex- 
perience, liesides,  he  made  no  reservations,  and 
Tebaldo  made  many.  Yet  it  was  liard  to  give  up 
her  dream  of  being  a  real  princess,  the  wife  of  the 
head  of  an  old  family,  for  she  was  very  ambitious 
in  more  ways  than  one.  Francesco  had  said  very 
much  the  same  things  before  now,  it  was  true,  so 
that  there  was  no  novelty  in  them  for  her.  But  his 
importunity  was  beginning  to  make  an  impression 
upon  her,  as  contrasted  with  his  brother's  deter- 
mined avoidance  of  the  (j^uestion  of  marriage. 

Still  she  said  nothing,  but  her  face  betrayed  her 
hesitation.  He  bent  nearer  to  her,  and  spoke  still 
more  earnestly.  There  was  no  affectation  in  his 
speech  now,  for  though  liis  passions  were  evanes- 


!i 


I  ; 


mi 


110 


con LEONE 


ii 


I!  m 

i 


ill  tho  ll 


.f  ll 


ital 


iiperament 

as  long  as  tlicy  lasted.  The  fact  tliat  he  liad  care- 
fully weighed  the  adv^antage  to  be  got  by  marry- 
ing an  artist  ^vh()  had  yontii,  beauty,  honesty,  a 
small  but  solid  inliei-itance  to  expect,  and  very 
possibly  fame  and  fortune  in  the  near  future,  did 
not  make  him  cold  nor  calculating  wlien  he  was 
close  beside  that  l)eauty  and  youth  which  had  at 
iirst  attracted  him.  Her  eyes  softened  dreamily 
from  time  to  time  as  he  S})oke,  and  she  made  no 
attempt  to  withdraw  the  hand  of  which  he  had 
taken  possession. 

He  spoke  quickly,  warmly,  eloquently,  and 
without  reserve,  for  he  had  nothing  to  conceal, 
and  notliing  to  fear  but  her  refusal.  The  words 
were  not  carefully  cliosen,  nor  the  phrases  very 
carefullv  turned,  but  thev  had  the  accent  of  sin- 
cerity,  for  his  wliole  being  was  moved,  as  he  spoke. 
They  had  also  the  merit  of  not  being  too  few  nor 
too  short;  for  that  is  often  a  merit  in  women's 
eyes.  A  woman  loves  to  hear  the  whole  tale  of 
love,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  and  feels  her- 
self somehow  cheated  ])y  the  short  and  broken  sen- 
tences whicli  are  often  all  that  a  strong  man  can 
command,  thoiigli  liis  liand  trembles  and  his  lips 
are  white  with  emotion  which  the  weak  never  feel. 

In  the  tender  sha,(h)w  of  the  half-darkened  room, 
his  eyes  filled  hers  till  she  could  not  look  away, 
and  his  speech  grew  softer  and  was  broken  by  little 


COULEONE 


111 


silences.  Aliaiulra  was  falling  under  the  s[)ell  of 
his  voice,  of  the  hour,  of  her  own  warm  youth,  and 
of  his  abundant  vitality. 

Tlie  ])Unds,  liooked  together  against  the  bars, 
shook  a  little,  perhaps  with  the  sultry  afternoon 
breeze,  and  all  at  once  there  was  less  light  in  the 
room.  Aliandra  moved  a  little,  realizing  that  she 
was  falling  under  the  nuui's  influence. 

"  But  Tebaldo !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Tebaldo !  "  she 
repeated,  still  clinging  to  her  long-cherished  hope, 
as  though  she  owed  it  a  sort  of  allegiance  for  its 
own  sake. 

Francesco  laughed  softly,  and  pressed  the  hand 
he  held. 

'^  Tebaldo  is  going  to  marry  the  American  girl 
with  the  great  fortune,"  he  said  quietly.  "You 
need  not  think  of  Tebaldo  any  more." 

Again  the  blind  creaked  a  little  on  its  hinges. 
But  Aliandra  started  at  what  Francesco  said,  and 
did  not  hear  the  window.  She  sat  upright  on 
the  sofa. 

''What  Am-^rican  girl?"  she  asked.  "I  never 
heard  of  her.  Has  this  been  going  on  a  long 
time?" 

"About  two  months  — "  The  blind  creaked  a 
third  time,  as  he  spoke. 

"There  is  someone  under   the  window!"    cried 
Aliandra,  lowering  her  voice  and  looking  round. 
It  is  the  wind,"  said  Francesco,  indifferently. 


(( 


>.  ■< 


112 


COBLEONE 


''The    southeast   wind    blows    up   the   street    and 
shakes  the  blinds." 

Aliandra  leaned  back  again,  and  he  took  her 
hand  once  more. 

''It  is  quite  well  known,  in  Kome,"  he  continued. 
*'  The  engagement  is  not  actually  announced,  but  it 
will  be  very  soon.  They  say  she  has  many  mill- 
ions, and  she  is  very  pretty  —  insignificant,  fair 
with  blue  eyes,  but  pretty.  He  has  done  very 
well  for  himself." 

Aliandra  was  silent.  The  news  meant  the  abso- 
lute destruction  of  a  project  she  had  long  hoped  to 
realizi^,  and  with  which  she  had  grown  familiar. 
But  she  knew,  as  it  fell  to  pieces  before  her  eyes, 
that  she  had  never  firmlv  believed  in  its  success, 
and  there  was  a  sort  of  relief  in  feeling  that  she 
was  freed  from  the  task  set  her  by  her  own  ambi- 
tion, while  at  the  same  time  she  was  hurt  by  the 
disappointment  of  failure,  and  a  sudden  keen  resent- 
ment against  Tebaldo  pi'ompted  her  to  yield  to 
Francesco's  entreaties  on  his  own  behalf.  He 
held  her  hand  and  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

The  silence  lasted  long,  for  the  notary's  daugh- 
ter was  afraid  of  herself  and  of  making  up  her 
mind  hastily.  The  blind  creaked  again,  more 
loudly  than  before,  and  she  tunned  her  head  ner- 
vously. 

"I  am  sure  there  is  someone  under  the  win- 
dow! "  she  said.     ''I  wish  you  would  look!  " 


COR LEONE 


113 


"I  assui-fi  you  it  is  only  the  wind,"  answered 
Francesco,  as  before. 

''  I  know,  but  please  look.  I  am  nervous.  The 
scirocco  always  makes  me  uervtms." 

^' It  is  not  the  weather,  Aliandra,"  he  said 
softly,  and  smilin<^,  witli  liis  eyes  iu  liers.  "You 
are  not  nervous,  either.  It  is  —  it  is  —  "  lie  bent 
nearer  to  her  face.     "Do  you  know  what  it  is?" 

Though  lie  was  so  near,  forcing  her  with  his 
eyes,  lie  had  no  power  over  her  now.  She  could 
not  help  looking  anxiously  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  hook(Hl  blinds.     She  was  not  listening  to  him. 

"It  is  love,"  he  said,  and  his  red  lips  gave  the 
word  a  sensuous  sound,  as  they  came  nearer  to 
her  face. 

She  did  not  hear  him.  The  rich  colour  in  her 
face  faded  all  at  once,  and  then  with  a  sharp  cry 
she  stood  upright,  pushing  him  away  from  her. 

"  I  saw  a  hand  on  the  window  sill !  "  she  ex- 
claimed.    "It  is  gone  again.'' 

Francesco  rose  also.  He  was  annoyed  at  the 
untoward  interruption,  for  he  fancied  that  the 
hand  must  have  belonged  to  some  boy  in  the  sLreet, 
playing  outside  and  climbing  up  a  little  way  to 
jump  down  again,  as  boys  do. 

"  It  is  ridiculous ! "  he  said  in  a  tone  of  irrita- 
tion, and  going  to  the  window. 

He  looked  down  between  the  blinds  that  were 
ajar,    expecting   to  see  a  peasant   boy.     Instead, 


VOL.   II.  — I 


114 


COULEOyE 


I       \ 


there  was  T(4)al(l()  ra^^-liiuM's  face,  yellow  in  the 
sun,  as  though  lie  had  a  fever,  and  Tebaldo's 
bloodshot  eyes  looking  up  to  Ids,  and  the  tliin, 
twisted  lips  snuling  dangerously. 

"Conit^  outside.'"  said  Tebaldo,  in  an  odd  voice. 
"I  want  to  speak  with  you.'- 

lUit  Francesco  onlv  heard  the  first  words.  His 
abject  terror  of  liis  brother  overcanu;^  him  in  an 
instant,  and  he  almost  ran  into  Aliandra's  arms  as 
he  sprang  back. 

"It  is  Tebalilo!"  he  whispered.  "Let  him  in. 
Keep  him  here,  while  I  go  away  throngh  the  stable 
yard!" 

Aud  before  slie  could  answer,  or  realize  exactly 
what  he  meant,  lie  had  left  her  standing  alone  in 
the  middle  of  the  room.  In  ten  seconds  he  had 
made  sure  that  the  gate  of  tlie  stable  yard  was  fast 
inside,  t'ld  lie  was  saddling  his  horse.  It  was  done 
in  less  than  a  minute,  scnnehow.  Then  he  lis- 
tened, coming  close  to  tlu^  gate.  lie  heard 
Aliandra..  speaking  Avitli  Tel)aldo  at  the  open  win- 
dow, a  monuMit  later  lie  luMrd  the  street  door  oi)en 
and  (dose,  and  lie  knew  that  I'ebaldo  was  in  the 
luaise. 

Verv  softly  and  (luieklv  he  unbolted  the  yard 
gate.  He  swung  it  wi(h',  reckless  of  the  noist;  it 
made,  and  in  an  instant  he  was  in  the  sa.ddle  and 
galloping  for  his  life  up  the  desiu'ted  street.  It 
Wiis  well  that  he  had  known  the  house  thoroughly, 


cohleone 


115 


and  that  Aliaiulra  had  obeyed  him  and  admitted 
Tebaldo  at  once. 

She  was  braver  than  Francesco,  by  many  de- 
grees, thongh  she  was  no  heroine  ;  but  she  was 
scared  by  the  h»ok  in  the  man's  face,  as  he  entered 
without  a  word,  and  looked  round  the  room  slowly 
for  his  brother. 

''Where  is  he?"  he  asked. 

Before  Aliandra  could  find  any  answer,  the  loud 
noise  of  clattering  hoofs  tilled  the  room.  Tebaldo 
was  at  the  window  almost  before  tiie  sound  had 
passed,  and  the  thrust  of  his  open  hand  smashed 
the  fastenings  so  that  tlie  blinds  flew  wide  open. 
He  looked  out  and  saw  his  brother  galloi)ing  away. 

He  knew  the  house,  too,  for  he  lijid  been  in  it 
many  times,  and  lie  knew  also  that  Basili's  brown 
mare  was  a  good  beast,  for  the  notary  was  a  heavy 
man  and  often  had  to  ride  far.  AV^ithout  even 
glancing  at  Aliandra  he  turned  to  tlu^  door.  But 
she  was  there  before  him,  ami  held  it  closed, 
though  she  was  frightened  now. 

"  You  sliall  not  go,"  she  tried  to  say. 

''Shall  not?"  he  laughed  harshly,  as  his  hands 
caught  her. 

He  (lid  not  hurt  her,  for  he  loved  her  in  liis  way, 
but  a  moment  later  she  found  herself  turned  round 
like  a  leaf  in  a  storm,  and  the  door  had  closed  be- 
hind him.  It  seemed  to  her  but  a  siM'ond  more, 
and  she  had  not  been  able  to  tliink  what  she  should 


!i 


liii 


116 


con LEO  XE 


If       if 


do,  wlien  the  sound  of  flying  hoofs  passed  the  win- 
dow again.  She  ran  to  h)ok  out,  and  slie  saw  tlie 
brown  mart;  already  I'ar  up  tlie  street.  Tebahlo 
couhl  ri(h*,  Jind  he  had  not  wasted  time  in  saddling. 
Bareback  h(3  rode  the  mare  with  her  halter  for  a 
l)ridle,  as  lie  had  found  her.  Aliandra  realized 
that  he  had  no  rifle.  At  all  events  he  Avould  have 
to  overtake  his  brother  in  order  to  kill  him,  and 
Francesco  had  the  start  of  him  by  several  minutes. 
He  knew  it,  but  he  guessed  what  Tebahlo  would 
do,  and  lie  kei)t  his  horse  at  full  si)eed  as  the  road 
began  to  wind  upward  to  the  bhick  lauds.  Tie 
glanced  beliind  hiui  just  before  encdi  turning,  ex- 
pecting to  see  his  pursuer.  lUit  a  clear  start  of 
four  minutes  meant  a  mile,  at  the  pace  he  had 
ridden  out  of  the  town.  Jle  kept  the  horse  to  it, 
for  lie  was  riding  for  the  wager  of  his  life,  lint 
th(^  animal  had  been  put  to  it  too  suddenly  after 
his  tV'cd,  without  as  much  as  a  prtdiminary  walk 
or  trot  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  even  in  his 
terror  Francesco  saw  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  keep  the  pace  much  longer.  l>ut  he  could  save 
distance,  if  he  must  slacken  speed,  if  he  followed 
th(^  foot))atli  by  which  the  ])easants  had  miuh^  short 
cuts  between  each  bend  of  the  roa<l  and  tlu^  next. 
They  were  luird  and  safe  in  the  heat,  and  his  horse 
could  trot  a,long  them  fairly  well,  and  even  canter 
here  a,nd  there.  And  then,  when  hi^  was  forced 
to  taki^  the  high  road  for  few  hundred  yards,  he 


CORLEONE 


117 


could  break  once  more  into  a  stretch iiig  gal^oi).  If 
lie  could  but  reach  that  turn,  just  beyond  the  high 
hill,  Avhere  Ferdinando's  friend  had  once  waited 
for  San  Giacinto,  he  believed  that  lie  couhl  elude 
Tebaldo  in  the  blac-k  lands. 

It  was  a  terrible  half-hour,  and  he  gasped  and 
sweated  with  fear,  as  he  urged  his  horse  up  that 
last  long  stretch  of  the  road  wliich  could  not  be 
avoided.  His  heart  beat  with  the  hoof-falls,  and 
the  sweat  ran  down  upon  his  velvet  coat,  wliile  he 
felt  Ids  hands  so  cold  that  it  was  an  effort  not  to 
dro[)  the  reins.  Tint  the  beast  had  got  his  wind  at 
last,  and  galloped  steadily  up  the  hill. 

It  was  grov/ing  suddenly  dark,  and  there  was  a 
feverish  yellow  light  in  the  hot  air.  A  vast  thun- 
derstorm was  rolling  over  Etna,  and  another  had 
risen  to  meet  it  from  the  west,  hiding  the  lowering 
sun.  Onlv  overhead  the  air  was  calm  and  clear. 
The  first  clap  of  the  thunder  broke  in  tlu^  distancje, 
and  went  rolling  and  echoing  away  from  the  vol- 
cano to  the  inland  mountains.  As  he  reached  the 
top  of  the  hill,  Francesco  felt  the  big  drops  of  rain 
in  his  face  like  a  refreshment,  though  they  were 
warm.  The  thuiuhu'  pealed  out  again  from  the 
mountain's  side  with  a  deafening  explosion.  He 
turned  in  his  saddle  and  loola^l  back. 

The  road  was  straight  and  long,  and  he  could 
see  far.  Tebaldo  was  in  sight  at  last,  almost  lying 
on  the  mare's  bare  back  as  she  breasted  the  hills, 


t ' 


I 

r 

i 

■ 

i 

1 

5^ 

:? 

ft  ' 

I'' 

tii 


Yd 


118 


COBLEOyE 


his  hand  ah)iig'  hor  neck,  liis  voice  near  lier  ear 
while  she  stretched  her  long  brown  body  out  at 
every  stride. 

Francesco's  teeth  chattered  as  he  spurred  his 
horse  for  anotlier  wild  effort.  lie  could  break 
from  the  road  now,  just  before  the  wide  curve  it 
made  to  th(^  left,  and  he  knew  the  bridle  paths  and 
all  the  sliort  cuts  and  by-ways  tlirough  the  black 
lands,  as  few  men  knew  them  except  that  one  man, 
liis  brother,  who  was  b(diind  him.  h\  his  haste  to 
escajx'  he  had  left  his  rifle  in  l)asili's  hall.  It  was 
so  much  the  less  weight  for  his  horse  to  carry,  but 
it  left  him  defenceless,  and  he  knew  that  Tebaldo 
nmst  be  armed. 

The  storm  broke  and  the  rain  came  down  in 
torrents.  Kis  horse  almost  slii)ped  in  jumping 
the  ditch  to  get  off  the  main  road,  but  recovered 
himself  (deverly,  and  long  before  Tebahh)  h:ul 
reached  thii  top  oC  tlie  hill  Francesco  was  out  of 
sight,  lie  might  have  felt  safe  then,  from  almost 
any  other  ])ursuer.  Uut  he  knew  Tebaldo,  and 
now  and  tluMi  his  te(4,h  chattered.  He  told  him- 
self that  he  was  cliilled  by  the  drenching  rain,  but 
in  his  liea.rt  lie  knew  it  was  fear.  Death  was  be- 
hind him,  gaining  on  liim,  overtaking  him,  and  lie 
felt  a  terrible  weakness  in  all  his  lioiies,  as  though 
they  were  softeiHul  and  lim[)  like  a  sk(deton  made 
of  ropes. 

It  was  hard  to  think,  and  yet  li(3  had  to  ease  his 


CORLEOXE 


119 


mind.  Tebaldo  was  lighter  tlian  lie,  and  lie  vode 
witliont  saddle  or  l)ridle.  To  take  the  shortest  way 
through  the  blaek  lands  was  to  be  surely  ovei'taken 
in  the  long  run.  It  might  be  best  to  take  the  long- 
est, and  perhaps  Tebaldo  might  get  before  him,  and 
give  him  a  chance  to  turn  back  to  Randazzo. 

But  as  he  looked  down  at  the  patli  his  heart 
sank.  The  heavy  rain  had  already  softened  the 
ground  in  places  and  his  horse's  hoofs  made  fresh 
tracks.  Thei'c  was  no  mistaking  them.  There 
was  only  one  way,  thtni,  aiul  it  must  be  a  race,  for 
only  speed  couhl  save  him.  Wliicliever  way  he 
might  turn  in  and  out  of  tlie  lissures  and  little 
hollows,  he  must  leave  a  trail  in  tlie  wet,  black 
ashes,  which  anyone  could  follow. 

Don  Taddeo's  best  horse  was  one  of  the  best 
horses  in  tliat  ■j)art  of  the  country,  as  Francesco 
knew,  and  more  tlian  a  mat(;h  for  the  notarv's 
brown  mare,  had  otlier  things  been  alike.  But 
there  was  tli(3  dilfereiu^.e  of  weight  against  him, 
and,  moreover,  Tebaldo  was  the  better  rider. 

There  was  less  than  thi'(H^-(pi;irt(U's  of  a  mile 
betw(HUi  them  now,  but  if  he  could  keep  the  pace, 
that  would  do.  lie  followcvl  tlie  sliortest  path, 
whicli  was  a,lso  the  best  because  it  was  naturally 
the  one  most  used  by  travidlers.  I'lu'  rain  fell  in 
torrents,  Jind  the  air  was  dusky  and  lurid.  Again 
and  again  tlie  great  forked  lightnings  flashed  down 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  and  almost  at  the  instant 


n 

r^ 

b   > 

■  .-.- 

5^ 

II 

m 

If 

' 


120 


COR LEON  E 


tlie  terrible  tlimidcr  (^nislied  tlirougli  tlie  hissing 
rain.  Frjincesco  felt  as  though  eaeh  peal  struck 
him  bodily  in  tlie  l)aek,  betwec^n  the  shoulders, 
and  his  knees  shook  with  terror  as  he  tried  to 
press  them  to  the  saddle,  and  he  bent  down  as 
if  to  avoid  a  shot  or  a  blow,  whih;  his  ears  strained 
unnatunilly  for  the  dreaded  sound  of  hoofs  behind. 
Yet  he  scarcely  dared  to  turn  and  look  back,  lest 
while  he  looked  his  horse  might  hesitate,  or  turn 
aside  to  another  ])ath  through  the  black  wilderness. 
Under  the  lurid  light  the  yellow  spurge  had  a  hor- 
ribly vivid  glow,  growing  everywhere  in  ])ig  bunches 
among  the  black  stones  and  out  of  the  blacker  soil. 
It  almost  dazzled  him,  as  he  ro  le  on,  always  watch- 
ing the  path  lest  he  should  make  a  mistake  and  be 
lost. 

Then  the  wind  changed  in  a  moment  and  came 
up  behind  him  in  gusts,  antl  brought  to  his  ears 
the  sound  of  terror,  the  irregular  beat  of  a  horse's 
lu)ofs,  cantering,  })acing,  trotting,  according  to  tlie 
ground.  It  was  feiirfully  near,  he  thought.  He 
had  just  then  his  choice  of  taking  to  the  road 
again  for  half  a  mile  or  more,  or  of  following  the 
bridle  ])ath  that  turned  olf  amongst  thti  spui'ge 
and  the  stones.  There;  was  ;i  broad,  deep  ditch, 
and  tlu;  rain  had  made  tlu!  edges  slii>p(U'y  and  there 
was  a  drop  of  several  teet,  a,nd  little  sj)ace  to  take 
oft'.  It  was  a  dangerous  lea]),  but  the  greater  fear 
dev^oured  the  less,  and  Francesi!o  did  not  hesitate, 


' 


con LEONE 


121 


but  put  the  good  horse  iit  it.      It  wouhl  be  a  relief 
to  get  a  stretehiug  gallop  aloug  the  road  agaiu. 

The  horse  cleared  it  well,  aud  thuudered  up  the 
highway,  as  glad  as  his  rider  to  be  out  of  the 
iuti'icate  paths  agaiu.  Fraucesco  breathed  more 
freely,  aud  preseutly  turued  in  his  saddle  as  he 
galloped,  and  looked  back.  He  could  see  nothing, 
but  every  now  and  then  a  gust  of  wind  brought  the 
sound  of  hoofs  to  him.  Just  as  he  neared  the  end 
of  tlie  half-mile  stretch  he  distinctly  saw  Tebaldo 
come  up  to  the  leap.  The  rain  liad  ceased  for 
a  moment,  and  in  the  grey  air  he  could  see  toler- 
ably well  how  the  brown  mare  took  off.  For  an 
instant  he  gazed,  absolutely  breathless.  Horse 
and  rider  disappeared  into  the  ditch  together,  for 
the  mare  had  not  cleared  it.  She  might  be  injured, 
she  might  be  killed,  and  Tebaldo  with  her.  With 
a  wild  welling  up  of  hope,  Francesco  galloped 
along  the  road,  already  half  sure  that  the  race  was 
won  and  that  he  could  reach  a  safe  place  in  time. 

The  liighway  was  level  now,  for  two  or  three 
miles,  over  the  high  yoke,  below  wliich,  on  the 
other  side,  Camiildoli  lay  among  the  trees.  He 
setthul  down  once  more  to  a  long  and  steady  gallop, 
and  the  going  was  fairly  good,  for  the  volcanic 
stuff  used  in  making  the  road  drank  up  the  rain 
thirstily  and  was  just  softened  by  it  without  turn- 
ing to  mud.     His  terror  was  subsiding  a  little. 

iUit  all  at  once  from  far  behind  came  the  regular, 


!! 


il.' 


122 


CORL  EONE 


1 


gallojiiiij,^,  trumping  ti'oad  of  the  horse  liis  brother 
was  riding.  He  turned  as  though  he  liad  been 
struck,  and  there,  a  mile  behind  him.,  was  a  dark, 
moving  thing  on  the  roach  The}^  had  not  been 
injured,  they  had  not  been  kiUed,  they  were  up 
and  aft(U'  liim  again.  And  again  liis  teeth  chat- 
tered and  his  hands  grew"  cohl  on  the  reins. 

The  entrance  to  tlie  avenue  of  Camahloli  was  in 
siglit,  and  he  set  his  teetli  to  keep  them  still  in  his 
head.  It  was  half  a  mile  from  the  entrance  to  the 
houses,  and  little  moi'e  than  that  to  Santa  Vittoria. 
lUit  if  he  turned  into  the  entrance,  Tebaldo  woidd 
cut  across  tht^  iields  and  migiit  catch  him  under 
the  trees,  caring  little  Avho  miglit  be  there  to  see. 
It  was  safer  to  make  for  Santa  Vittoria. 

lie  i)assed  the  turn  of  the  road  at  a  nmnd  pace, 
and  the  good  horse  breast(Ml  the  hill  bravely.  I)ut 
on  the  smooth  highway,  the  difference  in  weight 
begari  to  t(dl  very  soon.  Tebaldo  was  cleaidy  in 
sight  again  now,  stretching  himself  along  the 
mare's  body,  his  head  on  her  neck,  his  voice  close 
to  her  ear,  riding  like  veng<'ance  in  a  whirlwind, 
gaining  at  (?very  strides 

Francesco's  horse  was  ahnost  spent,  and  he 
knew  it.  lEe  liad  s])urs  and  used  them  cru(dly, 
and  the  poor  beast  struggled  to  gallop  still.,  while 
the  lean  brown  mai'c  gained  on  him.  The  sun  was 
low  among  the  lurid  (douds,  and  sent  a  pale  level 
glare  across  the  desolate  land. 


COR  LEONE 


123 


Before  tlie  cemetery  !;^ate,  lier  black  clothes  and 
her  black  shawl  drenched  witli  the  thunderstorm 
and  clmging  to  her,  Concetta  sat  in  her  accus- 
tomed place,  bent  low.  Francesco  scarcely  saw 
her,  as  he  rode  up  the  last  stretch  for  his  life. 
But,  as  he  passed  her,  his  liorse  stumbled  a  little. 
Francesco  thought  he  shied  at  tlie  black  figure,  but 
it  was  not  that.  Four,  live,  six  strides  more,  and 
the  brave  beast  stumbled  again,  staggered  as  Fran- 
cesco sprang  to  the  ground,  and  then  rolled  over, 
stone  dead,  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

Francesco  did  not  glance  at  him  as  he  lay  there, 
but  ran  like  a  deer  up  the  last  few  yards  of  the 
hill.  The  little  church  Avas  just  on  the  other  side, 
and  it  might  be  open.  Tebaldo  was  not  two  hun- 
dred yards  behind  him,  and  had  seen  all  and  was 
ready,  and  the  lean  mare  came  tearing  on.  She 
took  the  dead  horse's  body  in  her  desperate  stride, 
just  as  Francesco  burst  into  the  church. 

With  all  his  strength  he  tried  to  force  the  bolt 
of  the  lock  across  the  door  inside,  for  the  key  was 
outside  where  Ippolito  had  left  it  when  he  had 
entered.  He  could  not  move  it,  and  he  heard  the 
thundei'  of  hoofs  without.  If  Tebaldo  had  not 
seen  him  enter,  the  mare  Avould  gallop  past  the 
closed  door  to  the  gate  of  the  town.  In  wild  fear 
he  waited  the  ten  seconds  that  seemed  an  age. 
The  clattering  ceased  suddenly,  and  someone  was 
forcing  the  door  in  behind  him.     Francesco's  lips 


!r 


m^ 


124 


con LEONE 


h  li 


moved,  but  ho  could  not  cry  out.  lie  ran  from 
the  door  up  tlic^  aisle. 

AVlien  Teljaldo  liad  killed  liini,  on  tlie  stejis  of 
the  altar,  he  sheathed  tlie  big  knife,  with  which 
he  had  done  the  deed  at  one  blow,  and  instantly 
dropped  it  through  the  old  gilded  grating  under 
the  altar  itself,  behind  which  the  bones  of  the 
saint  lay  in  a  glass  casket.  Xo  one  would  ever 
look  for  it  there. 

As  though  the  fever  tliat  had  burned  him  were 
suddenly  (pienched  in  the  terrible  satisfaction  of 
murtUu',  the  natural  colour  returned  to  his  face  for 
a  moment,  and  he  grew  cold.  Then  all  at  once  he 
realiz(Ml  wliat  he  had  done,  and  he  knew  that  he 
must  escape  from  tlu^  church  before  anyone  sur- 
prised him.  He  turned  away  from  the  altar  and 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  I[)polito  Saraci- 
nesca,  who  had  been  at  work  at  the  Ijack  of  the 
organ,  while  he  was  waiting  for  the  fat  sacristan 
as  usual,  and  liad  conu^  down  the  winding  stairs  as 
soon  as  he  liad  heard  tlu;  noise  of  running  feet, 
without  even  going  to  the  front  of  the  loft  to  see 
who  was  there. 

Tebaldo  stood  stock-still,  facing  the  i)riest  while 
one  might  hav^e  counted  a  score.  He  knew  him 
well  and  was  known  to  Ippolito.  But  Ippolito 
could  not  see  who  it  was  that  lay  dead  across  the 
steps,  for  the  face  was  dcjwnwards.  T(d)aldo 
looked  at  the  churchman's  calm  and  fearless  eyes 


life 


COULEONE 


125 


and  knew  that  he  was  lost,  if  lie  could  not  silence 
him.  Before  Ippolito  spoke,  for  he  was  too  much 
surprised  and  horror-struck  to  lind  anything  to 
s;iy,  and  was  rather  thinking  of  what  he  ought  to 
do,  the  Sicilian  was  on  his  knees,  grasping  his 
sleeve  with  one  hand  and  crossing  himself  with 
the  other. 

He  began  the  words  of  the  Confession.  A  mo- 
ment more  and  he  was  confessing  to  I[)polito  as 
to  a  priest,  and  under  the  sacred  seal  of  silence, 
the  crime  of  having  slain  his  brother.  Ippolito 
could  not  stop  him,  for  he  had  a  scruple.  He 
could  not  know  that  the  man  did  not  at  once  truly 
repent  of  what  he  had  done,  and  in  that  case,  as  a 
priest,  he  was  bound  to  hear  and  to  keep  silence 
for  ever.  Tebaldo  knew  that,  and  went  to  the  end, 
and  said  the  last  Latin  words  even  while  getting 
on  his  feet  again. 

"I  cannot  give  you  absolution,"  said  the  young 
priest.  "  The  case  is  too  grave  for  that.  But  your 
confession  is  safe  with  me." 

Tebaldo  nodded,  and  turned  away.  He  walked 
firmly  and  quickly  to  the  door,  went  out  and 
closed  it  behind  him.  He  had  already  made  up 
his  mind  what  to  do.  He  met  the  fat  sacristan 
less  than  twenty  paces  from  the  church.  He 
had  known  liim  all  his  life,  and  he  stopped  him, 
asking  him  where  he  was  going.  The  man  ex- 
plained. 


■r  n 


126 


con  LEO  NK 


"Don  T])])olito  will  not  need  you  to  blow  tlie 
orgiin  to-day,''  Hiiid  Ti'lnildo,  gravtdy.  "He  lias 
iiist  killed  niv  biotluT  in  tliu  (diurcli.  I  luivo 
turned  the  key  on  him,  imd  am  going  to  feteh  the 
oarabineei's." 

TJie  fearful  lie  was  spoken  witli  perfect  direct- 
ness and  clearness.  The  man  started,  stared  at 
Tebaldo,  and  grew  pale  with  excitement,  but  he 
could  not  believe  his  ears  till  Tebaldo  had  repeated 
the  words.     Then  he  s[)oke. 

"  We  thouglit  In^  had  killed  him  yesterday  after- 
noon by  the  ctnuetery,"  he  said.  "And  now  he 
has  really  done  it!  Madonna!  ]\radonna!  And 
another  of  them  killed  Don   Ferdinando!" 

"  Wluit  is  that  about  the  cemetery?"  asked 
Tebaldo.  "  Tell  nu3  as  we  go,  for  I  [im  in  a 
hurry." 

"Jt  is  lu'tter  that  I  stay,"  said  the  man.  "He 
knows  the  lock  and  he  may  be  able  to  slip  the  bolt 
from  the  inside,  for  he  is  very  strong.  He  almost 
killed  Don  Fi-ancesco  last  night  with  his  hands  and 
only  a  stone  he  i)icked  up." 

He  told  Tebaldo  in  a  few  words  the  story  which 
the  peasan^.s  had  already  invented. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  told  nie,"  said  Tebahlo. 
"  Et  explains  this  horrible  nuirder.  I  will  go  for 
the  carabineers  at  once.  Tliere  is  no  more  time  to 
be  lost.      Stay  liere  and  watcli  the  door." 

He  knew  he  could  trust  the  man  to  do  his  worst 


I'lij, 


COULEONE 


127 


against  a  Ivoman,  and  he  walked  rapidly  into  the 
town. 

Tppolito  wattthed  Tebaldo  until  the  door  closed 
behind  him.  He  was  a  very  honourable  as  well  as 
a  very  good  man,  and  thongh  as  a  [)riest  he  felt 
that  he  nnist  give  the  murderer  the  ))eneBt  of  a 
doubt,  he  felt  as  a  man  that  the  doubt  (;ould  not 
really  exist,  and  that  Tebaldo  had  intentionally 
put  him  under  the  seal  of  confession  in  order  to 
destroy  his  power  of  testifying  in  the  case.  The 
clever  treachery  was  revolting  to  him. 

lie  turned  to  look  at  the  dead  man,  suddenly 
hoping  that  there  might  be  some  life  left  in  him 
after  all.  He  went  and  knelt  beside  him  on  the 
step  of  the  altar  and  turned  his  body  over  so  that 
it  lay  on  its  back.  He  felt  the  sort  of  pitying 
repulsion  for  anything  dead  which  every  sensi- 
tive! v  ortjjanized  man  or  woman  feels,  but  he  told 
himself  that  it  was  his  duty  to  make  sure  that 
Francesco  was  not  alive. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  Even  he,  in 
his  inexperience,  could  not  mistake  the  look  in  the 
wide-open,  sightless  eyes.  He  shuddered  when  he 
remembered  how  only  twenty-four  hours  ago  he 
had  struck  the  poor  dead  head  again  and  agiiin 
with  all  his  might,  and  he  thanked  Heaven  that 
he  had  not  struck  harder  and  more  often.  He 
looked  for  tlie  wound.  It  was  on  the  left  side  low 
down   in  the  breast,  and  must  have  gone  to  the 


:  '  ^1 


it  t 
i 


128 


con LEONE 


m 


heart  at  once.  There  was  blood  on  both  his  hands, 
but  very  litth^  liad  run  down  upon  tlic  steps. 

He  got  his  liandkercliief  from  tlie  side  pocket 
of  his  cassock,  and  started  as  ]ie  felt  there  the 
sheatlied  knife  wliicli  Orsino  liad  made  liim  carry. 
There  was  no  water  in  the  churcli,  excejjt  a  little 
lioly  water,  and  lie  could  not  dehle  tliat,  so  he 
wiped  his  hands  as  well  as  he  could  on  his  hand- 
kercbief  and  put  the  latter  back  into  his  pocket. 

Suddenly  he  realized  tliat  he  ought  to  be  doing 
something,  and  lie  stood  up,  and  looked  about  in 
hesitation.  He  asked  himself  how  far  tlie  secret 
of  confession  bound  him,  and  whether  it  could  be 
regarded  as  a  betrayal  to  call  the  authorities  at 
once.  Someone  might  have  seen  Tebaldo  leave 
the  church,  and  to  give  the  alarm  at  once  might 
be  to  fasten  sus[)i('i()n  ui)on  liim.  Th(^  rule  about 
the  secrecy  af  confession  is  very  strict. 

The  sacristan  miglit  be  expected  to  appear  at  any 
moment,  too.  I[)polito  looked  at  his  watch  and 
wondered  wliv  tlie  man  had  not  come  alreadv. 
He  was  \ii  great  difficulty,  for  the  case  was  urgent. 
Being  alone,  too,  he  did  not  like  to  shut  up  the 
church,  leaving  the  dead  man  tliert;  alone.  J>ut 
he  was  sur(>.  that  the  sac^ristan  would  conui  in  a 
few  moments.  It  was  more  tlian  half  an  hour 
since  he  luid  sent  the  lame  boy  to  find  him.  It 
was  wis(U'  to  wait  for  him  and  send  him  for  the 
doctor  and  the  carabineers. 


con LEONE 


129 


• 


He  paced  up  and  down  before  the  altar  rail 
ratliei  nervously,  glancing  every  now  and  tlien  at 
the  dead  man.  But  the  sacristan  did  not  come. 
He  thought  it  would  be  charitable  to  straighten 
out  the  lifeless  limbs  and  cross  the  hands  upon 
the  breast,  and  he  went  up  the  steps  and  did  so. 
When  it  was  tinished,  he  found  more  blood  on  his 
hands,  and  again  ridjbed  away  as  much  as  he  could 
with  his  hnndkerchief.  Once  more  he  paced  tiie 
stone  floor.  Then  he  remembered  that  in  his 
excitement  he  had  not  even  said  a  prayer,  and  he 
knelt  awliile  by  the  rail,  rept^ating  some  of  the 
psalms  for  the  dead,  in  a  low  voice. 

He  rose  and  walked  again,  and  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  (pacer  words  in  worn,  raised  letters  on  the  slab 
in  the  floor  —  'Esca  Pagliuca  pesca  ^Saracen  '  — and 
again  ]w.  was  struck  by  the  way  in  which  his  own 
nanu3,  or  somctliing  very  like  it,  could  be  nuide 
out  of  the  letters. 

H(!  walked  down  the  church,  intending  to  look 
out  niul  see  whether  the  sacristan  were  coming. 
He  was  Hur])rised  to  find  the  door  locked.  Then, 
all  at  once,  he  heard  the  sound  of  nuiny  voices, 
speaking  ]'>U(lly  and  coming  nearer.  He  could 
uistiiiguish  liis  own  name,  spoken  again  and  again 
in  angry  tones  by  someone  with  a  loud  voice. 

VOL.    II.  — K 


i  M 


nf^ 

■  ■ 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 


li'i'oLiTo  moved  a  stop  backwards  when  he  heard 
the  k(\y  turned  in  the  hjck,  for  the  door  opened 
inwards,  it  swung  wide,  a  moment  hiter,  and  lie 
faced  a  multitude  of  angry  eyes.  There  was  Te- 
baldo  poiutiug  to  him  with  an  evil  smile  on  his 
thin  lips,  aiul  his  lids  falling  at  the  angles  like 
those  (^f  a  vulture  that  scents  death.  TMiere  was 
the  young  red-haired  lieutenant  of  infantry,  gazing 
shar[>ly  at  him ;  there  was  a  cor[)oral,  with  three 
or  four  of  the  foot-carabineers  in  their  forage- 
caps. These  re})resented  the  la.w.  Uut  pressing 
u])on  them,  around  tlunn,  and  past  them,  was  also 
a  thnuig  of  angiy  men,  jind  with  them  half  a 
dozen  women,  and  some  children,  even  little  ones, 
and  th(^  lame  boy  who  waited  every  day  to  call 
the  sacristan,  and  tVe  fat  sacristan  hims(df,  wit.h 
the  distui'bing  cast  in  his  cy(\  In  thi^  backgrouml, 
just  within  th(^  door  when  a'l  had  entered,  and 
leaning  agaii»st  the  (h)orpost,  si'.ood  (-oneetta,  her 
shawl  falling  back  from  h(U'  liead,  her  spiondid 
eyes  gh^aiuing  with   insanity. 

"Take  him,"  said  Teltaldo,  harshly.     "TIhm'C  lies 

i;50 


CORLEO.NE 


131 


my  brother,  before  the  altar,  and  his  blood  is  on 
this  man's  liands." 

Then  eame  a  discordant  chorus  of  cries  and 
curses  from  the  crowd. 

"Take  the  pi-iest  of  the  Saracinesca !  Handcuff 
liim !  Put  him  in  chains !  Courses  on  his  soul, 
and  on  the  souls  of  his  dead  !  " 

"He  tried  to  kill  him  with  a  stone  yesterday!" 

"  He  has  done  it  to-day,  the  assassin ! " 

"  Let  us  burn  him  alive !  Let  us  tear  him  to 
pieces  !     Death  to  the  Koman !  " 

"  Let  me  get  my  hands  upon  his  face ! "  screamed 
a  dishevelled  woman. 

And  a  child,  that  stood  near,  spit  at  him. 

Ippolito  had  stepped  backwards  before  them 
and  faced  them,  pale  and  staring  in  amazement 
and  horror.  He  could  not  understand,  at  first. 
Th(^  hiih'ous  treachery  was  altogether  beyond  liis 
belief.  Yet  Tebaldo's  outstretched  hand  pointed 
at  him,  and  it  was  Tebaldo's  voice  that  was  bid- 
ding tlu^  soldiers  take  him.  Their  faces  were 
impenetrable.  Only  the  young  IMedmontese  officer, 
used  to  another  world  iu  tin;  civilized  north,  be- 
trayed in  his  ex[)ression  the  sort  of  curiosity  one 
sees  in  thi^  looks  of  people  who  are  watching  wild 
beasts  in  a  cage. 

"  Vou  had  better  clear  tln^  church,"  he  said  to 
the  carid)incei's.     "This  confusion  is  unseemly.'' 

He  was  not  their  officer,  but  tln^y  at  once  began 


132 


CORLEOXE 


lii^ 


to  obey  him.  The  crowd  resisted  a  little,  when  the 
})ig  lucii  pushed  tliem  l)a('k  with  outstretched  amis, 
as  one  gathers  canes  in  the  In'ake,  to  bind  them 
togethei'  before  cutting  them  oft  at  the  roots. 

"  They  will  let  him  go,  like  his  brother,"  growled 
an  old  man,  iimxudy. 

"They  will  s(mi(1  him  to  Rome,  and  then  let 
him  go  free,  l)ecause  he  is  a  lloman,"  saitl  the 
crooked  little  car])enter. 

And  the  little  boy  spat  at  Ippolito  again,  and 
dodged  the  hand  of  one  of  the  soldiei's  and  ran 
out.  With  protesting  cri(\s,  and  with  many  curses 
and  many  evil  threats,  the  peo[)le  allowed  them- 
selves to  be  pushed  out  without  any  violence. 

"  I  am  the  sacristan,"  said  the  fat  man,  object- 
ing;  and  they   let  him  stay. 

"I  am  Concetta,"  said  the  dark  girl,  gravely. 

"  Let  her  stay,"  advised  the  sacristan.  "  She 
saw  the  i)riest  beat  him  yesterday." 

Ippolito  had  not  si)oken  a  word.  lie  had 
folded  his  arms,  and  stooil  waiting  'for  the  con- 
fusion lo  end.  lie  was  fearless,  but  he  could  not 
realize,  at  iirst,  that  he  might  be  seriously  accused 
of  tlie  murder,  and  lie  believed  that  lu^  should  be 
set  free  very  soon.  He  uiulerstood.  th,3  treachery 
now,  iu)wever,  and  his  clear  eyes  fixed  themselves 
on  'I'ebahlo's  face. 

When  the  cliurch  was  cleared,  and  the  (h)or 
fastened,   the  corporal   step])ed   u[)   (o   him.     Two 


} 


cohleone 


133 


of  his  iTif^n  had  f^'ono  to  examine  the  body,  and 
to  search   for  tlie  weapon. 

"You  are  accused  of  having  killed  that  gentle- 
man," said  the  corporal,  quietly.  "  He  is  (piite 
dead,  and  you  are  in  the  church  with  him.  There 
is  ])lood  on  both  your  hands.  What  have  you  to 
say?" 

"  I  did  not  kill  him,"  said  Tppolito,  simply. 
"  When  1  saw  that  he  was  lying  before  the  altar, 
I  examined  him,  to  see  if  he  were  dead.  That  is 
how  I  soiled  my  hands." 

The  two  men  came  back  from  the  altar.  They 
had  ascertained  that  Francesco  had  been  killed  by 
a  knife-thrust,  but  had  not  found  the  knife. 

''  I  regret  that  T  must  search  you,''  said  the 
corporal,  in  his  quiet,  determined  voice. 

"  You  will  find  a  knife  in  my  pocket,"  answered 
Ippolito,  very  pale,  for  he  saw  how  all  evidence 
must  go  .against  him. 

The  corporal  looked  up  sharply,  for  he  himself 
was  surju'lsed.  Tppolito  emptied  his  pockets,  not 
wishing  to  submit  to  the  indignity  (»f  being  searched. 
He  at  once  produced  the  sheathed  bowie  knife  and 
the  handkerchief,  which  was  deeply  dyed  with 
blood  and  not  yet  dry.  Some  of  it  had  stained  the 
yellow  leathern  sheath  in  several  places.  The  cor- 
poral drew  out  the  \vea[)on,  which  was  bright  and 
spotless,  returned  it  to  its  sheath,  and  then  held  u[) 
the  liandkerchief  by  two  corners.      It  is  very  easy 


•ll 


134 


con  LEONE 


iii>: 


to  wipe  blood  from  biiruislied  steel,  provided  it  is 
done  instantly,  and  the  corporal  had  a  wide  experi- 
ence of  such  matters.  He  concluded  that  Ippolito 
might  have  cleaned  the  knife  with  the  pocket 
handkerchief.  He  handed  both  objecis  to  one  of 
his  men. 

Tebaldo's  lids  had  quivered  and  his  lips  had 
moved  a  little  as  he  looked  on.  It  seemed  as 
though  some  supernatural  power  were  conspiring 
in  his  favour  against  his  enemy.  But  he  said 
nothing.  The  young  officer  opened  his  blue  eyes 
very  wide,  and  thoughtfully  twisted  his  small,  red 
moustache. 

Ip})()lito  emptied  the  other  pocket  of  his  cassock, 
and  produced  a  snuiU  volume  of  the  lireviary,  con- 
taining the  offices  for  tlu^  spring,  a  little  fiexible 
morocco  pock(^t-book,  containing  a  few  bank-notes, 
and  an  iv^ory-handlcd  ])enknife. 

''  It  is  enough,"  said  the  c()r])oral.  "  These  things 
do  not  interest  us.  Ynnv  name,"  he  added,  taking 
out  his  note-book  and  pencil. 

'Mjjpolito  Saracinesca." 

"  Son  of  whom  ?  '' 

*' Of  Don  (Jiovanni  Saracinesca,  Prince  of  Sant' 
llario,  of  Uome.'' 

"  Age  ?  " 

*' Twenty-seven  years.' 

^'  Vour  occupation ';' 

"A  [triest." 


I 


» )» 


I 


CORLEONE 


135 


I 


"  Present  residence  ?  " 

"Home.  T  am  staying  with  my  brother  at 
Camahloli." 

Tlie  corporal  noted  the  answers  rapidly  in  his 
book,  and  returned  it  to  his  pocket,  buttoning  his 
tunic  again.     I'hen  he  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

''  You  have  already  given  your  acconnt  of  the 
affair,"  he  said  presently  to  Tebaldo.  "It  is  not 
necessary  to  repeat  it.  ]^ut  this  girl  —  what  has 
she  to  say?"     He  turned  to  Concetta. 

Gravely,  but  with  gleaming  eyes,  the  pale  and 
beautiful  girl  came  forward  and  faced  Ippolito. 

"  Yesterday  at  sunset  I  was  at  the  gate  of  the 
cemetery,"  she  said.  "This  man's  brother,  who 
lives  at  Camaldoli,  shot  this  Don  Tel)aldo's  ])rother, 
to  whom  I  was  betrothed,  and  he  is  buried  in  the 
cemetery.  Therefore,  I  go  every  day  to  the  gate, 
to  visit  him.  Yesterday  Don  Francesco  came  up 
the  road  and  was  speaking  to  uie.  He  who  lies 
there  dead  was  talking  with  me  but  yesterday. 
God  give  his  soul  peace  and  rest.  Then  this  priest, 
coming  down  from  Santa  Vittoria,  fell  upon  him 
from  behind  treacherously,  and  choked  him  by  the 
collar,  and  beat  him  upon  the  head,  so  that  he  fell 
down  fainting.  But  certain  peasants  came  by  fchat 
way  and  lifted  him  u])  and  took  him  into  our  village, 
but  the  priest  went  down  to  (huualdoli.  This  I 
sa,w,  and  this  I  tell  you.  And  now  two  Saracinesca 
have  killed  two  Tagliuca." 


>  i  >i 


I 


i  ; 


i 


1  :">G 


COltLEONE 


She  ceased  speaking,  and  lier  wliite  liands  drew 
her  shawl  over  lier  head,  for  she  was  in  church, 
where  a  woman's  liead  should  be  covered. 

''  Do  you  admit  the  truth  of  what  this  girl 
says?"  asked  the  corporal,  turning  to   [ppolito. 

"  It  is  true  that  I  beat  Francesco  Pagliuca  with 
my  hands  yesterday  afternoon." 

'^  J)o  you  not  admit  also  that  you  killed  him  to- 
day, in  this  church,  with  that  knife  ?  .  Don  Tebaldo 
testifies  that  he  saw  you  do  it." 

The  young  priest  drew  himself  up  to  his  height, 
and  his  clear  gaze  riveted  itself  on  Te])aldo's 
half-veiled  eves.  The  good  man  faced  the  bad 
silently  for  nuxny  seconds. 

"  ])id  you  testify  that  you  saw  me  kill  your 
brother  ?  "  asked   rp[)olito,  at  last. 

^'  I  did,  and  I  shall  repeat  my  testimony  at  the 
pro})er  time,"  answei'cd  Tebaldo,  steadily. 

l)ut  under  tlu^  clear,  liigh  innocence  that  silently 
gave  him  the  \\(\  his  eycdids  drooped  more  and 
more,  till  he  looked  down. 

"  Do  you  admit  that  you  killed  him  ?  "  asked  the 
corporal  again. 

"I  did  not  kill  him." 

"  ]>ut  von  must  necessarily  know  who  did,  if 
you  did  not,"  said  the  soldier.  ''The  sacristan 
says  that  you  sent  a  boy  for  him  some  time  ago. 
The  man  is  only  just  dead,  as  my  men  have  seen. 
\o\y  must  hav(>  been  in  the  cliurch   wIkmi  he  was 


CORLEONE 


137 


killed,   and   you   must   have    seen   the    man   who 
did  it." 

Ippolito  had  not  seen  the  deed  done,  but  he  had 
seen  the  murderer.  It  would  be  hard  to  answer  on 
the  one  point  and  not  on  the  other,  and  by  the  very 
smallest  slip  he  might  unintentionally  say  some- 
thing which  might  end  in  the  betrayal  of  the  secret 
told  him  in  confession.     He  therefore  kept  silent. 

"You  say  nothing?  You  insist  in  saying  noth- 
ing ?  "  asked  the  corporal. 

"  I  say  nothing  beyond  what  I  have  said.  I  did 
not  do  it." 

"  And  you,"  continued  the  soldier,  addressing 
Tebaldo,  "  you  testify  that  you  saw  this  man  do  it  ?  " 

'^  1  do.  Those  things  would  bear  evidence  with- 
out me,"  added  Tebaldo,  pointing  to  tlie  knife  and 
the  bloody  handkerchief,  which  latter  one  of  the 
soldiers  held  by  a  single  corner  in  order  not  to  soil 
his  lingers.  "  Those  things,  and  the  man's  hands," 
he  added.  "Moreover,  his  brother  killed  my  other 
brother,  as  everyone  knows,  and  he  himself  admits 
that  lie  assaulted  Francesco  only  last  night.  You 
can  hardly  hesitate  about  arresting  him,  corporal. 
The  fact  that  he  is  a  Roman  and  that  we  are 
Sicilians  is  hardly  a  snfficient  defence,  I  think." 

The  corporal  understood  that  he  had  no  choice. 
He  was  a  very  sensible  nuin  and  had  seen  much 
service  in  Sicily,  and  whenever  there  was  blood- 
shed he  was  inclined  to  attribute  the  crime  to  a 


I 


138 


con  LEONE 


It  : 
If! 


Sicilian  rather  tlian  to  an  Italian.  He  liked  Tppo- 
lito's  face  and  innocent  eyes  and  wonld  have  given 
much  to  teel  that  he  had  a  right  U)  leave  him  at 
libertv.  I>ut  he  had  to  admit  that  the  evidence 
Av^as  over})oweringly  strong  against  the  accused. 
At  first  sight,  indeed,  it  seemed  perfectly  absurd 
to  sup})ose  that  a  young  churclimau  of  a  sensitive 
organization  and  educated  in  a  high  state  of  civili- 
zation should  suddenly,  wilfully,  and  violently  stab 
to  death  sucli  a  man  as  the  carabineer  believed  Fran- 
cesco Pagliuca  to  have  been ;  a  man  against  whom 
tlie  authorities  had  been  warned,  as  being  likely  on 
the  contrary  to  do  the  Sarax'inesca  some  injury,  if 
he  could;  a  man  who  had  grown  up  in  a  wild  part 
of  Sicilv,  imbued  with  the  lawless  ideas  of  the 
inatia;  a  man,  in  fact,  who  though  a  nobleman  by 
birth  was  looked  upon  as  a  '  maft'euso,' and  whose 
brother  had  certainly  had  friendly  relations  with 
outlaws.  It  was  not  to  l)e  denied  that  the  cara- 
bineers and  the  soldiers  were  all  strongly  preju- 
diced in  favour  of  the  Saracinesca,  as  against  the 
Corleone. 

At  the  same  time,  the  evidence  was  overwhelm- 
ing, and  was  the  more  so  because  Ippolito  was  so 
obstinately  silent  and  would  say  nothing  in  self- 
defence  beyond  nudging  a  general  denial  of  the 
charge,  Tn  his  ditticulty  the  corporal  turned  to 
the  oflic(U'  of  the  line,  both  as  his  nnlitary  superior 
and  as   a   man  of  higher  education  than    himself. 


.iv*^! 


I 


con  LEONE 


189 


I 


He  Wanted  support.  He  l^egged  the  lieutenant  to 
speak  with  him  in  private  for  a  moment,  and  they 
moved  away  together  to  one  of  the  side  chapels. 

Ippolito  folded  his  arms  and  paced  up  and  down 
before  the  carabineers,  in  profound  and  distressing 
perplexity.  Tebaldo  leaned  against  a  pillar  and 
watched  him  with  evil  satisfaction.  Coricetta  went 
and  knelt  down,  facing  the  altar,  by  a  pillar  on  the 
opposite  side,  and  the  fat  sacristan  stood  still  in  the 
background,  watching  every])ody. 

The  lieutenant  shook  his  head  from  time  to  time 
while  the  corporal  went  over  the  case. 

"  For  my  part,''  said  the  officer,  at  last,  "  I  will 
wager  my  honour  as  a  soldier  that  the  priest  did 
not  kill  him.  lUit  you  will  have  to  arrest  him,  not 
because  of  the  feeling  in  the  village,  but  simply 
l:iecause  the  evidence  appears  to  be  so  strong. 
There  is  something  here  which  Ave  do  not  under- 
stand. Ihit  soldiers  are  not  called  upon  to  under- 
stand. It  is  always  our  duty  to  act  to  the  best 
of  oui"  al)ility  on  what  we  can  see.  Understaiul- 
ing  such  things  belongs  to  the  law.  I  advise  you 
to  take  him  to  your  quarters  and  get  him  away 
from  here  to-night.  He  will  make  no  resistance,  of 
course." 

The  corporal  was  satisfied,  though  he  did  not  like 
the  duty,  and  he  came  back  to  I[)polito. 

"  Tt  is  my  duty  to  arrest  you,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
which  expressed  some  respect  and  much  annoyance. 


140 


COULKOXE 


Titi)()lito  liiul  stopped  in  Lis  walk  and  turned  when 
he  lieard  tlie  soldier's  footsteps  ])eliind  him. 

"  Y'ou  must  du  what  you  think  right,"  he  said 
calmly.     "  I  am  ready." 

The  corporal  gave  an  order  to  his  men  and  re- 
quested rppolito  to  walk  between  them.  Then  he 
himself  0})ened  the  door  of  the  churcli. 

A  multitude  of  peoph^,  had  assembled  outside, 
and  there  were  now  at  least  three  times  as  many  as 
liad  at  first  followed  Tebaldo  and  the  carabineers, 
^[any  more  were  hurrying  down  from  the  gate,  and 
there  was  the  confused  sound  of  numy  voices,  talk- 
ing angrily.  But  when  Ip})olito  ai)peared  there  was 
silence  for  a  moment.  Then,  from  far  back  in  the 
crowd,  came  a  single  crj^,  loud,  high,  derisive,  and 
full  of  hatred. 

^'  Assassin  ! " 

The  word  rang  out,  and  was  immediately  taken 
up  and  repeated  by  a  hundi'cd  men  and  women, 
with  a  sort  of  concentrated  fury  that  hissed  out 
the  syllables,  as  though  each  were  a  curse. 

ll)polito  faced  the  ])eople  cabuly  enough,  walking 
between  the  four  carabinecu's,  who  marched  two 
and  two  on  each  side  of  him,  and  the  evening  light 
shone  full  upon  his  clear-cut  features  and  his 
innocent,  brave  e3'es.  He  needed  courage  as  well 
as  innocence  to  bear  him  through  the  ordeal,  for 
he  knew  that  l.nit  for  the  handful  of  soldiers  tiie 
crowd  would  have  nuide  short  work  of  tearing  him 


COELEONE 


141 


I 


to  pieces  in  their  fury.  For  oiiee,  the  soldiers 
were  on  their  side  agiunst  the  hated  Italians  of 
the  mainland.  The  people  applauded  them  and 
their  corporal,  and  the  infantry  officer,  as  they 
went  by. 

The  children  ran  before,  crying  out  to  the  people 
who  were  still  coming  down  from  th(!  village. 

"  Here  comes  the  priest  of  the  Saracincsca ! " 
thev  sliouted.     "■  Here  comes  the  assassin  !  " 

'*  Assassin  !  assassin  !  "  Ippolito  heard  the  word 
a  thousand  times  in  live  minutes.  And  s(mie  of 
the  people  spoke  to  the  soldiers  and  the  corporal. 

"  Give  him  to  us,  Uncle  Carabineer  I  "  cried  the 
crooked  carpenter.  "  What  has  the  lav/  to  do  with 
him  ?  Give  him  to  us !  We  will  serve  him  half 
roasted  and  half  boiled!" 

All  the  peo})le  who  heard  laughed  at  this  and 
jeered  at  Ippolito. 

"  !See  the  blood  on  his  hands  1 "  screamed  the 
carpenter's  big  Avife,  suddenly  catching  sight  of 
the  red  stains.  "  See  the  blood  of  Sicily  on  the 
priest's  hands  ! " 

A  yell  rose  from  all  the  multitude,  for  a  hundred 
had  heard  the  woman's  high,  shrill  voice,  and  the 
rest  took  up  the  cry,  so  that  the  children  who 
went  before  ran  back  to  see  what  Avas  the  matter. 
One  was  the  woman's  chikl.  She  caught  him  in 
her  strong  arms  and  roAsed  him  up  to  see,  as  she 
marched  along. 


142 


CO  li  LEONE 


$1 


■  i  ' 


?  I 


"  See  the  good  Sieilitiii  blood ! "'  she  eried  into 
the  boy's  ear. 

'M'urses  upon  the  souls  of  his  dead!"  yelled 
the  ehild,  half  mad  with  excitement. 

All  the  i)eople  sui'ged  along  together,  running 
and  jostling  one  another  to  keep  the  priest  in 
sight.  And  the  children  whistled  and  nuule  cat- 
calls and  strange  noises,  and  the  women  screamed, 
and  the  men  cursed  him  in  their  hard  voices. 

Barelieaded  he  walked  between  the  soldiers, 
looking  far  ahead  and  not  seeing  or  not  wishing 
to  see  the  })eoi)le,  nor  to  understand  what  they 
said.  He  had  but  one  thought  —  not  to  break 
the  faiHi  of  his  })riestly  order  by  betraying  the 
confession.  Had  he  known  that  death  was  before 
him,  he  would  not  have  yielded. 

Suddenly  something  struck  him  on  the  shoulder, 
and  iiC  started,  and  his  face  changed.  Someone 
had  thrown  ;».  rotten  orange  at  him,  well  aimed, 
nnd  as  it  nmashed  upon  Iiis  shoulder,  some  of  the 
yellow  juice  spurted  upon  his  cheek.  For  one 
:noment  the  calm  look  was  gone,  and  the  clear 
features  set  themsidves  steridy,  and  the  eyes 
flashed  with  liuman  ang(U'  at  tln^  indignity  of  the 
insult.  The  crowd  screamed  with  ihdight,  and 
pushed  the  soldiers  \\\h)\i  each   other. 

"Ihdtl"'  cried  the  carabineer  corporal. 

In  a,  moment  his  great  army  revolver  was  in  his 
hand,  and   all   his  men,  watching  him,  had  theirs 


reai 


ly 


COIiLEONE 


143 


"  We  are  acting  in  the  name  of  the  haw,"  he 
said,  in  a  h)ud  voice.  'Mf  anything  more  is 
thrown  at  ns,  we  shall  disperse  you,  and  you 
must  take  the  consequences." 

''The  orange  was  not  thrown  at  you,"  cried 
the  carpenter's  wife. 

"  I  have  warned  you,"  said  the  corporal.  "  Stand 
off,  there  !  Fall  back  !  Make  Avay  !  "  And  he  kept 
his  revolver  in  his  liand,  as  the  people  slunk 
away  to  right  and  left,  cowed  by  the  sight  of  the 
weapon. 

After  that  there  was  less  noise  for  a  while,  though 
he  did  not  pretend  to  control  that,  nor  to  hinder 
them  from  saying  Avhat  they  pleased.  And  pres- 
entl}^  they  began  again,  and  the  hissing  words  filled 
the  air,  and  pierced  the  young  priest's  ears. 

]>ut  lie  said  nothing,  and  his  face  was  cold  and 
pale  again,  as  he  walked  on,  fearless  and  ir.nocent, 
keeping  the  real  murderer's  secret  f(jr  the  sake  of 
his  own  churchman's  vo.v,  and  holding  his  head 
high  amidst  the  insults  and  the  jeers  of  the  multi- 
tude. 

It  was  a  long  way,  for  they  had  to  marcli  through 
the  whoh^  town  to  reach  the  ([uarters  of  \hv.  citra- 
bineers  in  the  old  convent  on  tlie  other  side.  I])po- 
lito  would  luive  marched  a  wliolt^  (hiy's  journt'y 
without  wincing,  if  it  had  falhui  to  his  lot,  but  he 
was  glad  when  the  wooden  !j:iites  of  the  vard  were 
loudly  shut  behind  him,  and  lie   was  at  last   free 


144 


CORLEOXE 


1  ) 


IP 


from  his  eiieiiiies.  H(^  looked  round,  and  Tebaldo 
was  gone,  and  Coneetta,  and  the  saeristan,  as  well 
as  all  the  rest,  exee[)t  the  carabineers.  The  officer 
of  the  line  had  gone  home  to  write  a  despatch  to 
his  colonel,  and  Ippolito  was  alone  with  the  cara- 
bineers. 

IVEeanwhile  the  little  lame  boy  whom  Tppolito 
employed,  and  who  had  a  sort  of  half-grateful,  half- 
expectant  attachment  for  the  kind  priest,  had  done 
a.  brave  thing,  considering  his  intirnuty.  Seeing 
what  was  happening  at  the  church  and  hearing 
what  all  the  i)eople  said,  he  (puetly  slii)ped  away 
and  lim[)ed  down  to  (Jamaldoli  to  warn  Orsino 
Saracinesca.  It  took  him  a  long  time  to  get  there, 
for  he  was  very  lame,  having  one  leg  quite  crooked 
from  the  knee,  besides  some  natural  deformity  of 
the  hij).  Ihit  he  got  to  the  gate  at  last,  and  it 
chanc^ed  that  Oi'sino  had  just  conu^  in  from  riding 
and  was  standing  there,  his  rifli^  slung  behind  him, 
when  the  liith-  boy  canu^  down. 

At  hi'st  Orsino  could  not  understand,  a.nd  when 
he  partly  understood,  he  could  not  .at  tirst  b(diev<», 
the  st»)ry.  The  boy's  account,  howcu'cr,  was  cir- 
cumstantial, and  coidd  not  possibly  ha.vi^  been  in- 
vi'iite(l.  'I'hen,  when  li<'  felt  suri^  that  his  brother 
was  ai'cuscMl  of  l^'rancesco's  murd(U',  Oi'sino's  face 
darkened,  and  he  called  I'or  his  horse  Jigain  and 
mounted  (piickly.  The  little  lame  boy  looked  up 
to   him    wistfully,   beginning   to   limp   along,  and 


COR LEONE 


14; 


'} 


Orsiiio  bent  over  in  his  saddle  and  picked  liini  np 
with  one  hand  by  Ins  elotlies,  and  set  him  before 
liim,  thongh  he  was  a  dirty  little  fellow.  Then  he 
galloped  off  np  the  hill.  lint  tin;  boy  begged  to  be 
let  down  to  the  gronnd  at  the  eenieteiy,  for  he  said 
that  his  mother  would  kill  him  if  she  knew  that  he 
had  warned  Orsino. 

The  crowd  was  still  lingering  in  the  streets  as 
the  big  man  on  his  big  horse  canu^  thundering  along 
the  paved  way,  his  ritie  at  his  back  and  the  holsters 
on  his  saddle,  his  face  stern  and  set.  It  was  as  well 
that  he  did  not  meet  Tebaldo  Pagliuca  just  then. 
It  was  one  thing  to  throw  an  orange  at  an  unarmed 
priest,  and  to  scn-eam  out  curses  at  him  ;  it  was  ipiite 
another  to  ^:tand  in  the  way  of  Orsino  Saracinesca, 
with  nearly  thirty  shots  to  dispose  of,  nH)uuted  ou 
his  strong  horse,  and  in  a  l)ad  tem[)er.  The  peo[)h^ 
shrank  aside  in  silence,  and  looked  after  the  hiited 
llouum  as  he  galloped  by  towards  the  carabineers' 
(quarters. 

lie  struck  the  gate  with  his  heavy  boot  by  way 
of  knocking,  without  disnnjunting.  A.  man  on  duty 
insid<'  asked  who  he  was,  for  there  were  orders  to 
kee])  th(^  gate  shut  on  account  of  the  crowd. 

''  Saracinesca  I ''  answered  Orsino. 

Th"  gate  swung  back,  and  he  rode  in  ;ind  ;isked 
for  the  corporab  dismounteib  threw  the  l)i'idh'  to  the 
soldiei",  and  wiuit  into  tlie  house.  'Hie  corporal  met 
him  in  tlu^  cori'idor. 

VOL.    II.  —  L 


r    !< 


1|! 


146 


COULEOyE 


^'AVliat  is  tlie  meaniiij^-  of  this  ?"  asked  Orsino. 
'^Is  it  true  that  vou  liaw^  ai'rested  my  brother 


'>  ?? 


"  I  was  ohlii^eil  to  (h)  so,"  answered  the  corpor;!,!, 
quietly  eiioiiL;li.  'vl  consulted  the  lieutenant  and 
lie  tdso  advised  it.  I  am  sorry,  but  it  was  evidently 
my  duty/' 

''  Release  him  at  onee,"  said  Orsino,  in  a  tone  of 
authority. 

The  corporal  shook  his  head. 

^' 1  cannot  do  that,"'  hi^  answered.  ''You  are  at 
liberty  to  set;  him,  but  he  is  a  prisoner." 

"You  are  the  best  judge  of  your  own  conduct. 
Y'ou  know  what  you  are  dcjing.  I  shall  telegraph 
to  the  Ministry  in  Konie  at  once." 

"The  ^Minister  will  not  ord(M'  Don  t[)polito's 
reh^ase,"  answered  \\n\  c(tr[H)i'id,  with  conviction. 

Orsino  stared  at  him,  and  laughed  rather  roughly. 

"  You  are  mad,"  he  re[)lied.  '"  Vou  will  lose 
your  sti'ipes  for  this,  it'  nothing  worse  ha])pens  to 
you.      1  advise  you  to  let  my  brother  out  at  once." 

'•  Sign(n'  Don  Orsino,"  said  the  cor[)oral,  gravely, 
''I  am  an  old  soldier.  1  am  es})e(nally  instructed 
to  [)rotect  you  and  your  interests  Inu'e.  Yt^t,  in 
the  execution  of  my  duty,  I  ha,ve  been  absolutely 
obliged  to  arrest  your  lirother,  llu*.  Reverend  Don 
I[)])olito,  for  killing  Don  iM'a.ncesco  l*agliuca,  in 
the  (diurcdi  of  Santa  \'ittoria,  this  afternoon.  The 
evidence  was  such  that  1  shoidd  have  risked  d(\g- 
radation  anil  punishment,  if  I  h;id  refused  to  ari'est 


con  LEONE 


14T 


him.  It  is  not  for  me  to  judge  of  his  possible 
guilt,  which  to  me,  persoually,  seems  im[)ossil)le. 
I  could  only  act  as  a  non-commissioned  oiticei-  of 
carabineers  is  obliged  to  act  bv  the  terms  of  our 
general  orders.  I  say  this  to  you  personally,  but 
I  am  answeralde  for  the  act  to  iwy  superiors,  and 
tliey  do  not  often  overlook  mistakes.  If  you  will 
come  with  me  into  my  [)rivate  room,  I  will  tell 
you  all  the  details  of  the  case,  and  show  you  the 
knife  and  the  blood-stained  handkerchief  which  we 
found  in  Don  Ii)p()lito's  pocket.  I  and  my  men 
will  do  all  in  our  power  to  serve  you,  as  we  are 
instructeel  to  do;  but  to  release  Don  Ip[)olito  with- 
out further  proceedings  is  absolutely  out  of  the 
([uestion." 

Orsiim's  ex[)ression  changed  while  the  man  was 
speaking,  for  he  judged  hlni  to  be  what  he  was, 
an  lionourable  soldier  with  a  vast  anu)unt  of 
common  sense.  He  followed  him  into  the  little 
room  which  had  been  the  parlour  of  the  convent, 
and  sat  down  beside  the  plain  deal  table  on  which 
lay  several  day-books  and  a  heap  of  largt;  ruled 
paper  with  printed  headings  over  the  colunnis, 
half  filled  with  neat  writing.  A  little  lamp  with 
a  green  shade  was  alrtnidy  burning. 

Orsino  sat  down  and  listened  patiently  to  all 
th(^  corporal  had  to  say.  When  the  latter  had 
linished.  he  had  said  more  than  enough  to  ])rove 
to  any  sane  person  tluit  he  had  done  his  duty. 


!i 


iifj 


148 


con LEONE 


There  was  the  fact  of  the  (luarrel  on  the  pre- 
vious (hiv.  It  mattered  little  that  Orsiiio  knew 
tln'  true  cause  of  the  scuttle  iu  the  rcjad,  and  that 
the  corporal  had  not  known  it  till  Orsino  told 
him.  The  fact  of  violence  remained.  There  was 
the  sinu'ularlv  continuous  chain  of  circumstantial 
evidence  j^'ot  in  the  church.  And  there  AV^as  Ippo- 
lito's  obstinate  silence. 

"  I    see,"    said    Orsino,  gravely.       '*  I    beg    your 


pa 


rdon.     You   l-ave    done    riu'ht.     That    Francesco 


Tagliuca  wa;,  killed  by  his  brother  Tebaldo,  I  am 


convince 


Wy   1 


V 


lis   own    i)r( 


)tlier 


'> " 


exclaimed    the    cara- 


bineer, incredulously. 

"Tiuit  is  what  1  believe;  but  f  have  no  evi- 
dence. I  should  like  to  se«^  Don  lp[)olito,  if  you 
please.'' 

••  1  Mill  glad  that  you  understand  me,-'  said  the 
corporal,  who  was  used  to  being  misjudged. 

lie  led  the  wav  tt)  a  door  in  the  corridor,  and 
oi)ened  it.  It  was  not  locked,  and  he  simply 
closeil   it  bv  th(^  latch,  after  admittin-j;  Orsino. 


Ti 


le  room  was  a,  lai"'"(^  one,  over 


look 


tl 


cinir  tne  am- 


ple courtyard,  but  the  two  windows  were   heavily 
barred.  ;is  indeed  were  all  those  on  the  lower  floor 


o 


f  tlie  old  convent.     ()ii  oiu'  sid(\  a/'"ainst  tl 


le  wa 


11, 


stood  a,  low  trestle  b(Ml,  covereil  with  one  of  tin*, 
soldiers'  brown  bhinkcls.  There  was  a  deal  table 
that  had   Ikhmi  painted  green,  an   iron  washstandj 


kM 

n 

COliLKOXK 


149 


and  lialf  a  dozen  I'ush-bottonied  cliairs.  On  the 
table  stood  a  small  lamp,  with  a  shade  precisely 
like  the  corporal's  own,  and  beside  it  there  was  a 
bii;'  jug  of  wine  and  a  heavy  glass  tu udder  iuto 
which  nothing  had  as  yet  been  poured.  The  cor- 
poral had  bi'ought  the  wine  himself,  supposing  that 
Il)polito  would  need  it.  It  was  the  soldier's  idea 
of  comfort  and  refreshment. 

Ippolito  sat  by  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and 
started  to  his  feet  as  Orsino  eutered.  lie  smiled 
rather  sadly,  for  he  knew  that  he  was  in  a  very 
terrible  and  dangerous  situation.  So  far  as  he 
could  see,  he  might  be  sent  to  penal  servitude 
for  Tebaldo's  crime,  for  nothing  coidd  have  induced 
him  to  break  his  vow  and  betrav  the  secret. 

Orsino  grasped  his  outstretched  hand. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,"  said  I])polito,  with 
a  glad  intonation.  "Who  called  you?  They  all 
hate  us  here.  Von  should  have  heard  how  they 
cursed  me  and  all  of  us,  in  the  street.  Somebody 
threw  a  rotten  orange  at  me,  and  hit  my  s]u)ulder. 
but  the  Ciirabineers  ke])t  them  in  order  afttu-  that." 

Orsino  said  sinnething  under  his  breath,  and 
looked  steadily  into  his  brother's  (\ves.  At  last 
he  spoke,  and  asked  one  ([ucstion,  cpiietly,  coax- 
ingly,  as  though  only  half  hoping  for  ww  answer: 

"Did  Te])a.ld()  kill   liiiu,  or  did  lie   not?" 

Ippolito's  eyelids  (puv.M'ed  at  the  suddeimess 
of    the    (piestion.       His    soul    abhorred    a    lie,  and 


!  tl 


W- 

••J^ 

i? 


150 


COULKONE 


most  of  all  Olio  to  proclaim  the  innocence  of  such 
a  man.  To  answer  t^  trntli  was  to  betray  the 
confession  and  to  break  his  solemn  vow  before 
God,  as  a  priest.  Silence,  perhaps,  was  equivalent 
to  casting  sns])i('ion  on  the  murderer. 

But  he  kept  silent,  for  he  could  do  nothing  else. 


"^i 


1 

V 

\ 

\ 

(■ 
ii 

S 

! 

i. 

J 

ii 


CHAPTER   XXIX 


Ippoltto  was  silent,  and  lio  tnrned  away  from 
his  brother,  lialf  fearing  kjst  even  liis  eyes  sliould 
assent  to  the  aecnsation  against  Tebahlo.  lie  went 
towards  the  window,  throngli  wliicli  i\w.  afterglow 
of  the  sunset  was  still  faintly  visible,  and  then, 
as  though  changing  his  mind,  he  came  back  to  the 
table  and  sat  down,  keeping  his  face  from  the  lamp 
as  much  as  possible.     Orsino  took  another  chair. 

"  It  is  not  right  to'  accuse  anyone  of  such  a 
crime  without  evidence,"  said  Ippolito,  slowly. 

Orsino  did  not  answer  at  once.      ?re  took  two 

cigars    from   his  pocket   and   silently  offered   one 

to  his  brother,  and  both  l)egan  to  smoke,  without 

speaking.     They  were  so  much  in  sympathy,  as  a 

rule,  that  there  would  have  been  nothing  sur[)ris- 

ing  in  their  silence  on  any  ordinary  occasion.     IJut 

the  elder  man  now  felt  that  there  was  a  mystery  of 

which  Ippolito  was  making  a  secret;  he  knew  his 

brother's  extraordinary  but  i)erfectly  rpdct  tenacity 

wlien  ]\e  chose  not  to  s])eak  of  anything,  and  he 

turned  the  whole  situation  over  in  his  mind.      He 

was  in   possession  of  all  the  details  known  to  the 

carabim^ers,  and  of   another  piece  of  infornuition 

l&l 


!l 


l|[f 

1'    ' 

ni  ' 

; 

*-      ':   ■ 

i 

|;: 

i^y  : 

. 

i 

^ 

\ 

J 

'k 

' 

1 

J  • 

152 


con  LEONE 


Avliicli  IkkI   not  readied  them,  but  which   lie  was 
keepin.L;'  to  liiiiiself  until   it  luiL^'ht  be  of  use. 

For  one  of  his  men  had  seen  from  a  lon<j^  way  off 
how  a  man  riding"  bareback  had  chased  a  man  on  a 
saddled  horses  iij)  th(!  lon.-j:  straight  hill  to  the  ceme- 
tery, and  he  had  told  ( )rsiiio  of  the  fact  before 
the  lame  boy  had  arrivetb  thouLi,"h  he  admitted 
that  h(^  had  not  IxH'ii  able  to  riH-oij^nize  the  riders. 
Orsino  himself  had  found  Taddeo's  horse  lying 
dead  in  the  r<!ad  just  beyond  the  gat(^  of  the  grave- 
yard, and  his  own  horse  had  shi(Ml  at  it.  lie  recog- 
nized the  dead  beast,  which  v/as  W(dl  known  as  one 
of  the  best  horses  in  the  countrv.  and  he  had  seen 
in  a  flash  that  it  was  not  injured,  fuid  had  not  been 
shot,  whercMt  h(^  had  concluded  that  it  had  proba- 
bly l)een  ridden  to  death  in  the  race  his  man  had 
described.  Ippolito  had  told  him,  after  the  scuffle 
on  the  previous  evening,  that  Concetta  had  dii-ected 
the  peasants  to  tak(^  Francesco  to  'I'a-thh'o's  house. 
Distrusting  Tebaldo  altogetluu*,  as  Orsino  did,  it 
was  not  extraordinarv  that  he  sho'dd  hit  on  some- 
thing  vx'ry  lUMr  the  truth,  by  a  single  guess 
founded  on  what  he  knew.  Wo.  was  in  total 
ignoi'ance  of  Aliandra's  conut^xion  with  the  story, 
and  he  had  no  idea  why  the  one  brother  should 
have  been  chasing  the  otluu".  Ihit  he  had  often 
heard  of  Tebaldo's  his  of  ungovernable  fury. 
Vittoria,  herself  iiad  told  Orsino  that,  at  such 
times,  Tebaldo  was   more  dangerous   than    a   wild 


I  i^ 


it 


COIthKOM': 


1  r,:] 


boast,  iiiid  she  liad  also  told  him  that  her  brothers 
oft(Mi  ([uarrelh^d. 

Orsino  t^'iiessed  that  such  a  quarrel  liad  taken 
])laee  to-day,  somewhere  on  tlie  road,  and  that  it 
had  ended  in  Franceseo's  killing  his  horse,  reaeh- 
ini;  the  ehureh  on  foot,  and  being  overtaken  ])v  his 
brother  and  stabbed  a  few  seconds  later,  as  had 
really  ha[)[»ened. 

Orsino  was  not  very  clever  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  word,  but  his  mind  was  direct  and 
logical,  when  he  exerted  it.  He  went  a  step 
farther  in  his  guessing,  and  conchuled  that  [[)po- 
lito  had  not  seen  the  murder,  nor  i)erhaps  Tebaldo 
himself,  but  that  Tebahhj  had  seen  him.  'Fhe 
priest  had  come  down  from  the  organ  loft,  had 
found  the  body  lying  on  the  steps,  and  had  moved 
it,  while  Tebaldo  had  conceived  the  idea  of  accusing 
him  of  the  deed.  He  explained  Jpi»olito's  silence 
by  attributing  to  him,  as  a  very  conscientious  man. 
the  most  extreme  fear  of  bringing  an  accusation 
for  which  he  had  no  ocidar  evidence.  Though  tlie 
train  of  tliought  is  not  (>asily  ex[)ressed  in  words, 
it  was  a  suiliciently  reasonable  one. 

When  he  luid  follow(>d  it  out,  he  knockivA  the 
ashes  from  his  cigar,  and  looked  at  his  brother. 

'•  I  am  going  to  tell  vou  what  I  think."  he  said, 
<•  for  ^'ou  are  making  a  mvsterv  of  the  truth  out  of 
some  scru[)le  of  conscience."' 

Ippolito  shaded  his  eyes  with  liis  hand,  resting 


r 


154 


COliLKOXb: 


Lis  (>ll)()\v  oil  tlio  ial)l(\  \\(^  iVlt,  liis  l)ro\v  moisten 
suddenly  with  anxiety,  lest  Orsiiio  should  soiueliow 
have  <;-uess»Ml  tlie  seeret,  and  his  fears  increased  as 
liis  ])rother  told  him  of  the  race,  of  the  dead  horse, 
and  of  the  coiudusions  he  had  drawn. 

In  his  painful  ])osition  the  youni]^  priest  luiijjht 
have  IxM'ii  forj^iven  for  ^vishilll;•  that,  altou'ether 
Avithout  his  a|;ency,  Orsino  mi.n'ht  hnd  out  the 
truth.  I>ut  he  did  not.  As  Orsino  had  once  said 
of  him,  he  had  in  him  the  stuff  that  sent  martyi's 
to  the  stake  in  old  days.  He  honestly  ho})ed,  with 
all  his  heart,  that  Orsino  mii^'ht  not  hit  on  the  true 
story,  and  he  was  relieved  when  he  heard  the  end 
of  his  brother's  deductions.  As  a  man,  he  was 
most  anxiou,>  for  his  own  immediate  release,  and 
he  A\  as  willing"  that  the  murderer  should  be  brouijjht 
to  justice.  l>ut  as  a  [)riest.  lu^  felt  horror  at  the 
thouL;"ht  that  he,  who  had  received  the  confession, 
miuht  in  any  way  whatever  help  to  bring  about 
such   a  result. 

At  that  moment  he  wished  that  Orsino  Avould 
L!:o  away,  sinct;  he  had  not,  at  the  first  attemi)t, 
fathomed  the  secret.  He  might  sneceed  the  sec- 
ond time. 

'•  r  partlv  understand  whv  vou  are  silent,"  said 
Orsino.  '•  It  is  not  good  to  accuse  a  man  who  may 
be  innocent.  Neither  you  nor  I  should  care  to  do 
that,  liut  I  am  not  the  .Attorney  (ieneral.  Yon 
can   surely   speak   freely   to   me.      Y'ou   know   that 


COm.KOSE 


1 T);") 


;  I 


anythiiipj  yon  say  is  safe  witli  me,  and  it  is  not 
as  tlion<^di  yon  should  ])o  sng\L>ostintj  to  nu^  a  sns- 
})i('ion  which  T  liad  not  already  t'orniod  ])y  myself. 
])o  yon  not  trnst  mo?  Tt  is  hardly  oven  a  case 
of  trnst!  What  conld  I  say?  That  you,  the 
accnsod,  have  the  sanu^.  impression  which  I  have. 
■Jhit  1  will  not  oven  say  that.  The  point  is  tliis: 
Yon  were  on  the  spot,  in  the  church.  Vour  i^niess 
at  th(^  truth  must  be  incomparably  more  valuable 
than  mine.  That  is  Avhat  I  am  ti-ying  to  make 
you  nnderstand." 

Jle  gently  patted  the  table  with  his  hand,  em- 
phasizing the  last  words,  wliile  he  le.aned  forward 
to  see  his  brother's  face.  But  the  hitter  turned 
away  and  smoked  towards  the  window. 

<'Is  that  all  true,  or  not?"  Orsino  asked,  in  a 
tone  of  insistence. 

''What?"  asked  Ti)i)()lito,  fearing  to  commit 
liimself. 

"That  yon  can  trust  me  not  to  put  you  in  the 
position  of  accnsiug  an  innocent  man." 
"  Yes ;  of  conrse  it  is  trne." 
Orsino   looked   at   him   thonghtfuUy  for   a  few 
seconds. 

"  When  you  asked  me  what  was  trne,  just  now, 
before  you  answered  me,  yon  asked  the  qnestion 
])ecanse  von  were  afraid  tluat  your  answer  might 
include  my  guess  as  to  what  happ<'ued.  1  sup- 
pose my  gness  was  not  altogether  right,  since  you 


■t 

?! 
»1 


I.   iH^iAi    ■■ 


loG 


con  LEONE 


AV('i'(^  iifi'aid  of  assontiiiL;-  ^■'>  it.  I  wisli  you  would 
look  at  iiu\  ipi)()lit()!  What  is  all  this?  Is  there 
to  be  iio  more  coiiiideiice  betwet'u  us,  Ixu-ause  a 
more  look  miL^ht  mean  that  >  ou  suspect  Tebaklo 
Tagliuca  ?'' 

Ippolito  faeed  him,  and  smiled  al'feetionately. 

'•  It'  you,  or  our  i'athei",  or  any  man  like  us,  were 
iu  my  ])ositiou,  you  would  act  exactly  as  I  am 
avtiun",'"  he  said  slowly. 

'•  \()\\  are  ])(U'fecll\'  iiuioceut.  find  vet  vou  act  like 
a  nuiu  who  is  afraid  of  iucrindnating  himself!" 
said  Oi'siuo,  L^'rowint;'  impatient  at  last. 

*' 1  am  pci'tectly  iirnoceui,  at  ;dl  (n^nts,"  an- 
swered  Ip[)olito,  with  sonH'thiu;4'  like  a  laugh. 

^vT  am  .u^ad  that  you  are  so  li,L;'ht-h(\n'ted  al)out 
it  all.  I  am  not.  It  we  cannot  catch  tlu^  nuiii  who 
I't-ally  killed  I^'rancesco  l)cfore  to-morrow  mornin,i(, 
vou  will  l)e  taken  (h)wn  to  Messina  and  imprisoned 
unlil  wc  can  hail  you  out,  it  hail  is  accept(Ml  at  all, 
which   I   doubt.      \{)\\   run   a   u'ood  chance  of  beiuLj 


tried    foi'   murdei'.      I  )o  xou   I'cali/e  thai 


•>  11 


I  cannot  help  it,  if  it  conu's  to  that,"  said  Ippo- 


lit 


o.  ou 


ietl' 


itti 


V  iturnicj-  av  his  ciuai 


t  h 


"  \'ou   can   al    all    e\.'iits   say  something;'  to  help 

me  iii   provinu'  your  inunccnce  — " 
"I   aiu   soi'i'y   to  say   tliat    I    cannot." 
( )rsino  made  an   impaiieut   iiio\'emeid,  nncr()ssin<jf 

and 


<( 


I'ccrossiiiL;"  one   knee  oxer  Ihc  olhcr. 
Yuu  cuuld  if  you  chose,"  he  said.     "  Hut  there 


CORLKONE 


157 


is  no  more  teri'iltlc  obstacle  to  couiiiion  sense  than 
II  morbidly  senipiiloiis  c-oiiscieiiee.  What  do  you 
su[)pose  our  people  will  think,  in    Koim:  ?  " 

"They  nnIII  not  think  nie  guilty,  at  all  events," 
answered  the  priest.  His  nianniu'  changed.  "  F 
tell  you  franklv,  Orsino,"  he  ;Mid,  his  face  growing 
stpiare,  as  it  sometimes  did,  ••if  I  knew  that  !  was 
to  be  sent  to  })enal  serviiude  for  this,  I  would  not 
sav  one  word  more  than  \  have  said  already.  It 
is  (piitc;  uscdess  to  ([uestion  me.  Do  your  best  to 
save  me, —  1  know  you  will,  —  l)ut  do  not  count 
on  me  for  one  word  more.  Consider  nu'  to  lie  a 
lay  tiinire,  deaf  and  dumb,  if  you  please,  mad,  if 
you  choos(\  an  idiot,  if  it  serves  to  save  me, 
but   do   not   expect   me    to    say  ;iny thing.      I    will 

not." 

Orsino  knew  his  ])rotluu'  well,  and  knew  the 
nuinner  and  the  tone.  There  was  iiiu'hangeable 
resolution  in  every  distinct  syllable  and  in  eveiy 
quiet  intonation.  His  own  irritation  disa[)peared, 
for  he  ri'alized  that  Ippolito  must  have  some  great 
and  hom)urabh'   reason   for  keei»ing  silence. 

'•So  lou"''  as  you  ar«^  here,  uidess  wc  iind  the 
murderer  to-night,  you  will  be  shut  up  in  this 
room,"  said  Orsino,  after  a  paust'.  "No  pi-clinii- 
nary  examination  can  take  place  here,  wlicrc  there 
is  not.  even  an  olhce  of  the  rrcl'cct  iirc  They 
woidd  naturally  take  v(ui  to  Kaiida//o.  but  Messina 
woidd  be  better.      We  should  have  more  chance  of 


1 

1 

r-  'H 

\U 

i' 

;■  ^  4 


mv 


if 

k 


m. 


ir)8 


(OIILKONE 


gcttiiii,'  you  out  on  ]»;iil  at  once  if  we  went  to  liead- 
(jiiMi'ters." 

"  Kandaz/.o  is  a  eodlci*  plare,"  ol)servc(.l  Ippolito, 
tll(>!l.^•ht  fully. 

"What  in  lli(>  world  has  tliat  to  do  with  it?" 
asked  Orsino,  iu  surprise. 

"Only  that  it  I  am  to  1k^  kept  in  j)rison  all 
suiunu'r,   I    should   prefer  a  cool  elimale.'" 

"  Really  —  "'  <  )rsino  almost  lauL;hed  at  his  ealm- 
ness.  "  That  is  absurd/'  lit^  saJd.  "  We  shall  eer- 
tainly  ha\'t'  the  j)ower  to  L;'et  you  out  ])i'ovisionally." 

'•I  lioiK'  so.  Let  them  take  nu^  to  Messina,  if 
you  think   it  best." 

*•  I  will  nudve  the  eorjjoral  tcde^raph  for  authority 
at  onee.  It  would  be  well  if  we  eould  L^ct  off 
b»d"ore  morinnu'  and  avoid  the  rabbles  in  the   street. 


Hav 


e   \(»u 


had 


sui>i>ei 


.>  -"I 


"No.  'I'ht'V  br(Minht  me  some  wine.  There  it 
is  —  l»ut  1  do  not  waid  anvthiuL!'.  Shall  vou  tele- 
i^raph  to  our  people'.'  It  would  be  better,  '^i'hey 
mi^ht  see   it  in   the  paixu's." 

"Of  course.  I  shall  send  them  a  full  account, 
and  shall  send  the  sanu'  tele.L;ram  to  the  Minister 
of  dust  ice.  I  know  him  very  well,  and  so  does  our 
father.'' 

"Send  me  up  some  clothes  and  my  dri^ssini:; 
thin,L;'s  by  a   trooper,   will  you'.'"  said    Ippolito. 

They  made  a  few  more  arranL-'cments,  but  Orsino 
abstained    from    askin;.;"   any    more    ([U(\stions,    and 


ij 


CO  II  LEONE 


159 


presently  lie  left  his  brotlicr  alono,  aiul  after  sjjeak- 
iiiL;'  witli  tlu^  corporal  lie  mounted  his  horsi^  and 
rode  slowly  out  of  the  court  into  the  street,  towards 
the  telei^'niph  oihce.  Halt  an  hour  later  he  was 
on  his  way  down  to  Canialdoli.  The  [)eo[)h'  ot  the 
village  had  mostly  i^one  into  their  houses,  and  the 
streets  were;  aluiost  deserted,  for  the  short  twilight 
was  over,  and  it  was  already  nij^ht. 

He  tried  to  see  ahead  of  him  in  the  L;loom  as  he 
came  near  the  cemetery,  for  he;  e\[)iH'ted  to  find 
the  ,i;r(jcer's  horse  still  lying  in  the  road.  l>ut  it 
had  bt'en  liiken  away  already. 

1I(^  had  hesitated,  at  first,  as  to  wdiether  he 
should  seek  out  Tehaldo  and  try  to  force  the  truth 
fi'om  him  l)y  sheer  violence,  but  In;  had  giviMi  u|)  the 
idea  at  once  as  being  absurd.  If  lu;  failed,  as  lie 
nught  fail,  —  for  'l\'baldo  was  desperately  brave, — 
hi^  should  simply  be  creating  fresh  evidence  of  tlu^ 
hatred  which  existed  between  tlu^  two  families, 
not  to  mention  the  fact  that  any  such  encounter 
might  easily  end  in  more  bloodshed,  l^ven  to  his 
unimaginative  mind  thert^  seemed  to  be  a  strange 
fatidity  in  the  whole  story.  He  had  killed  one 
brother  in  self-defence,  or  in  what  the  law  consid- 
ered to  be  that,  and  now  Ippolito  was  accused  of 
murdering  another  of  the  brothers,  it  was  wiser 
t(»  leave  the  third  alone,  and  to  trust  to  tlu'  hrv  to 


ro\  e  lpj»olito's  innocence.     Oi'sino  was  no!   a  man 
ho   instinctively    loved   violence   and    lighting,   as 


160 


con  LEONE 


:} 


t^ 


soiue  men  do.  lie  IVlt  th;it  if  San  Giacinto  had 
been  [n'csent  he  wouhl  somehow  have  managed  to 
set  Ippolito  Cree  and  L^et  Tehaklo  impi'isoned  in 
liis  phice,  by  slieer  streni^th  and  the  power  of  terror 
which  he  exei-ted  over  so  many  [x'ople,  but  whieli, 
to  (h)  him  justice,  \\v  did  not  al)use.  The  giant 
was  an  extraordinai-y  man,  mentally  and  pliysieally, 
and  always  put  action  before  logic,  and  logics  before 
sentiment.  Orsino,  on  the  contrary,  generally 
wished  to  think  out  every  matter  to  the  end  before 
acting,  though  he  was  neither  slow  nor  timid  when 
he  had  ultimately   madi^  u[)  his  mind. 

So  far  as  he  could  do  so,  he  had  decided  ;ind 
acted;  and  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  situation 
itself,  and  most  directly,  now.  to  his  love  for  Vit- 
toria.  Jle  had  been  looking  forward  to  seeing  her 
bet'o:"  long,  for  he  had  begun  to  understand  that 
his  presence  in  Canuddoli  was  not  often  necessary 
foi-  many  days  at  a  time:  and  of  late,  during  his 
lonely  rides,  h;  had  given  himself  u[)  to  planning 
sonu^  means  b)r  meeting  her  (hiring  his  next  visic 
to  Rome. 

She  was  the  principal  and  central  being  in  his 
whole  daily  life.  The  sei)aration  was  not,  one  of 
distance  only,  I'or  there  were  other  and  almost 
insupei'ablc  obstacles  to  his  marriage.  Aftei'  Vvv- 
diiiando's  (h\i11i.  aftci  Mai'ia,  Carolina  d'Oriaiu's 
terrible  inipi'ccations,  after  his  own  fatlici'"s  al>so- 
lutc    refusal    to    listen    to   the    pi'oposal,   it   sinuiied 


il 


't. 


COIiLi:ONE 


101 


almost  iin])ossil)lo  that  he  shoiihl  ever  really  many 
Vittoria.  And  now,  as  thouij^li  to  ciusli  the  last 
possil)ility  out  of  existence,  this  new  and  terril)]e 
disaster  h.ad  fallen  lik(^  a  thunderbolt  from  a  clear 
sky. 

Orsino  was  not  very  easily  roused,  but  ])ersistent 
oj)[>osition  had  the  effect  of  slowly  increasing;  the 
tensi<m  of  his  nature.  l*]vents  had  this  effect  upon 
him  in  a  cumulative  way.  And  his  moral  force 
slowly  rose,  as  water  in  a  hutj^e  embanked  reser- 
voir, into  wliich,  beinsj;  empty,  the  little  stream 
trickles  idly,  as  thouL^i;  it  had  no  force  at  all;  but 
ever  <piietly  flowinijj  in  from  the  source,  it  covers 
the  bottom  little  by  little,  and  still  flows  in,  day 
by  day,  week  by  week  ;  and  the  water  rises  slowly 
and  very  surely,  i,^atherinij;  its  terrible,  incom])res- 
sible  weijL^ht  into  itself  from  the  streamlet,  till  the 
body  of  it  is  ih'cj)  and  broad,  and  its  weij^ht  is 
lillions   of  tons,  calm    and   still  and  evt'r  risini; 


n 


.")  t 


and  then,  one  day,  tlu^  fi'cshet  comes  liissin^  down 
th(^  bed  of  the  stream,  ;ind  the  last  rise  in  the 
reservoir  is  sudden  and  awful.  The  hut^e  embank- 
ment ([uivers  and  rocks,  and  bursts  at  last;  and 
the  pent-u])  streuijjth  of  the  water  is  let  loose  in  one 
monu'ut,  and  sweeps  honliuLif  ami  roarini;'  down  the 
valley,  canwini;  dealli  in  its  bosom  and  leaving 
utter  desolation  behind. 

As  he  rode  down  throu^li  the  sih'ut  nii,dit,  the 
man  wondered  wlien  he  thought  oi'  the  emptiness 

VOL.    II. —  M 


'.'O 


162 


COIiLEONE 


in  wliicli  his  life  had  once  movod,  of  how  little 
he  had  cared  for  anythini^-.  of  the  iniixu-turljiihle 
indifference  with  wliicli  he  had  thought  of  ;ill  the 
world.  For  he  was  Ix'i^innini;'  to  fcid  his  strengtii 
in  luni.  miitclied  against  the  r<'sista.nee  of  events. 

A  girl  had  wrought  the  (diange;  and  even  in  his 
great  perph'xity  ;ind  trouble,  his  face  softened  in 
tlie  (hirk  ;is  he  tliouglit  of  her.  \'et  he  knew,  as 
grown  men  do,  that  only  half  the  secret  was  in 
her.  and  tliat  tl;"  other  half  was  in  himself.  For 
the  strength  ol"  love  is  that  it  is  the  source  of  all 
existing  life,  and  is  a  law  whicdi  nu^'n  and  wonuMi 
obey,  as  atoms  are  sul)iect  to  gravitation.  That  is 
the  strength  of  it.  Ihit  the  beanty  of  love,  and  the 
hapj)iness.  and  the  nobility,  are  of  a  higher  and 
finer  essence,  not  suihh'uly  to  b(^  seni,  grasjx'd,  and 
tidven,  l)ut  distilh'd  in  life's  alend»ic  of  that  which 
was  Ixd'ore  life,  and  shall  be  afterwards,  for  ever. 

Orsino  was  not  imaginative,  and  ids  nature  was 
not  of  that  kind  whi(di  is  commonly  called  spirit- 
nal.  which  is  given  to  contemplation,  and  dtdights 
in  thti  ))eautiful  traceries  of  the  soul's  guesswork. 
He  vagiu'ly  understood  that  there  was  more  between 
his  fathei-  and  mother  and  in  their  happiness  than 
he  would  have  called  love,  though  there  was  noth- 
ing for  whi(di  he  might  not  hope.  At  ])resent  his 
love  was  that  great  natural  law,  from  whi(di,  if  one 
comes  Avitliin  tiu'  sphere  of  its  attraction,  there   is 


I 


th 


tl 


jio   more  escape    man    tnere    is    irom    iiunger  an* 


il 


con LEONE 


163 


thirst.  He  dij^^iiified  it  in  liis  own  i>oi'son,  by  liis 
iiilieritance  of  lii.u'li  inimliness  and  lionour.  It  di<l 
not  di,L;"nit'v  liini.  Vittoi-ia  l<Mit  it,  l)v  licr  bcin.i;', 
the  i)uritv  and  h)V('liness  of  sonu'thin,^-  half  divine 
whih'  wlioUy  iiunian,  l)ut  it.  L^avc  licr  nothin.L;-  in 
return.  Love  can  he  coarse,  Itrutal,  violent,  and 
yet  still  l)e  love.  Aceordin.^^  to  the  heini;'  it  iiiovcs, 
we  say  that  it  is  ennobled  or  (h'based. 


Orsino  saw  the  monster  of  ini[)ossibility  risin.L,' 
between  him  and  Vittoria,  and  thoui^h  he  said 
nothing;  to  himself  and  formed  no  resohitions,  ho 
felt  sometliing  within  him  risini;-  to  meet  the  im- 
possible, and  put  it  down.  And  beyond  the  obsta- 
cles he  saw  Vittoria's  face  clearly,  with  the  lidit 
on  it,  wat(diin.^  him,  and  her  eyes  expecting  him, 
and  her  lii)s  moving  to  form  words  that  should  bid 
him  conu'. 

11(»  rode  slowly  on  through  the  ])la(dvness,  for 
the  road  descen(le(l  rapidly,  and  it  w;is  not  safe 
to  urge  his  horse.  A  deep,  resentful  nu'lancholy 
settled  upon  him  in  the  dam[)  night  air.  There 
was  n  )thing  hojxdess  in  it,  for  it  was  really  the 
siMisat-ion  of  a  new  strength;  and  as  the  (Jreeks 
knew   loULT   au'o,   all    u'reat    strenulh    is    u'rave   and 


'■.-."I 


melancdu  lie  as   ^^elancholia,  herself. 

lie  thouu'ht  of  his  brother  sitting  alone  in   the 


room     where 


he  was  confined.  1I(>  thought  of 
l''rancesco's  body  lying  in  the  little  (duii'<'h,  waiting 
to   l)e   l)uried,  as    b'erdinando's   had   lain,  barelv   a 


1^ 


1G4 


con LEONE 


iiionfcli  ago.  H(^  tliouglit  ol"  tlics  widowed  motlior, 
twice  IxTt'iivtMl,  half  crazed  witli  suffering  already, 
destined  to  waken  on  tlie  niori'ow  to  meet  another 
death  wound.  lie  thought  of  Vittoria,  alone  with 
tliat  mother,  cut  off  from  himself  as  he  was  cut  off 
from  her,  mourning  with  horror,  if  not  with  grief, 
for  the  ))rother  who  had  been  nothing  to  her  while 
he  lived.  Then  he  was  glad  that  he  had  not  sought 
out  'rel)ak  •  lU'l  -ie  I  to  f(u'ce  tlte  truth  from  liim. 
Things  wer;  h.);!  -uough,  without  more  vi(jlence  to 
make  them  v\  "ise. 

]>ut  most  of  all  he  wondered  at  Tppolito's  silence, 
and  afterwards  when  he  had  tasted  his  lonely  su|> 
per  he  sat  long  in  his  place,  staring  at  the  empty 
chair  opposite,  and  trying  to  force  his  intelligence 
to  penetrate  the  mystery  by  sheer  determination. 


fi 


« 


1 


CHAPTER   XXX 

Tkp.aldo  felt  safe  that  night  when  he  set  his 
thirsty  lips  to  a  big  jug  of  thin  wine  and  water 
and  drained  the  whole  contents  at  a  draught, 
while  the  fat  saeristan  stood  waiting  at  the  door 
of  the  room  in  the  grocer's  house.  He  had  been 
giving  the  man  directions  :d)out  the  disposal  of 
the  funeral,  [t  was  the  room  Franct  si^.o  a^l  occu- 
pied, and  his  tilings  lay  about  in  lii  ornev,  as  he 
had  left  them  early  in  the  morning  '  iien  he  had 
ridden  down  to  Randazzo  for  tlie  1  st  time. 

The  man  wlio  had  killed  him  had  been  under  a 
terrible  physical  and  mental  strain,  ever  since  he 
had  left  Rome,  in  tlie  insanity  of  his  jealousy. 
Now  that  all  was  over,  he  fancied  that  lie  should 
be  able  to  think  connectedly  and  reason  about  the 
future.  He  sent  the  man  i'way  with  the  empty 
jug  .and  sat  down,  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  a  cigar. 
He  liad  none,  and  lie  rose  again,  and  beg;in  to  look 
among  his  brother's  belongings  for  something  to 
smoke. 

A  strange  sensation  came  over  him,  all  at  once. 

It  .seenKul  as  though  I'rancesco  could  not  be  dead, 

after  all.     His  things  s(H'med  to  have  his  lite  in 

105 


^ 

r 

1 

1 

«! 

1 

f- 

i      V--: 

i 

I       M 


flii 


166 


COIiLEONE 


them  The  h'litheni  valise  Liy  open  on  the  floor, 
one  sl'^t!  till  m1  with  fresh  linen  that  had  been  dis- 
tiirl)L'd  in  [)\illing  sonietliing  out,  a  lieap  of  half- 
unfohh'd  clothes  in  the  other  side,  kee[)in<^  up  the 
flap  that  divided  tlu^  two.  A  pair  of  black  silk 
i)raees  had  fallen  out  u[)on  tlie  floor;  a  coat  lay 
u[)on  the  chair  idose  by ;  there  was  a  (dean  hand- 
kerchief on  t]i«?  table,  a  smart  notti-book  with  a 
silver  (dasj),  a  small  bottle  of  JOau  de  Lubin,  a  new 
novel  in  a  paper  cov<'r.  a  crumphMl  ncws})a[)er  two 
days  old,  and  a  pink  pasteboard  Itox  of  Egy[)tian 
cigarettes,  open  and  less  than  half  empty.  Tebaldo 
took  one  and  ligli^ed  it  meclianically  at  tlie  flame 
of  the  candle,  wondering  how  it  could  be  that 
Francesco  would  never  want  his  cigarettes  again. 
Surtdy  he  would  come  in,  presently,  and  take  one, 
and  tlieii  would  begin  tlu^  old  bickering  and  (puir- 
relling  that  liad  gone  on  for  v<'ars. 

X(jw  that  it  was  all  over,  Tei)aldo's  first  feeling 
among  all  these  objects  was  that  h<5  missed  his 
brother,  whom  he  had  always  so  utterly  despised 
and  whom  he  had  bitterly  hated  with  all  his  heart. 
lb;  had  not  the  sort  of  real  timidity  under  a,  suptu*- 
licial  recklessness  which  beijir.  to  feed  the  terror 
of  renu)rse  almost  as  soon  as  tla^  irrevocable  deed 
is  done.  Ibit,  little  by  little,  as  he  turned  over 
the  things  and  jniiTed  at  the  cigarette,  a  kind  of 
stealinu'   hoi'ror   surrounded    him,    and    would    not 


1 


cave  him 


con LEONE 


107 


It  liad  nothing  to  do  with  any  suspici(ni  of  tlie 
sn})<'i'natui'al,  and  he  intcMKh'd  to  lie  (h)\vn  ;md  try 
to  sh*ep  in  tlie  bed  in  wliich  Francesco  liad  sh'[)t 
on  tlu'  [)i'i'vious  night.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with 
fear  of  discovery,  for  he  felt  safe  and  was  out- 
wardly brave  to  recklessness.  It  was  rather  the 
horror  of  liaving  done,  almost  unwittingly,  what 
no  power  could  undo,  Jind  of  having  utterly 
destroyed,  at  a  blow,  something  to  which  lie  liad 
been  a.('Customed  all  his  life.  And  this  strangely 
piercing  regret  clashed  continually  witli  the  expec- 
tation, arising  out  of  long  habit,  of  suddenly  s(;e- 


inj* 


I^ 


ancesco    appear    m    person    wher<'    all    liis 


h 


ill    li 


belongings  were  lying  about,  in  the  room  he  liad 
last  iidial>it(Ml.  He  Avas  reckless,  unsiu'upulous, 
choleric,  almost  utterly  bad,  but  he  was  luiman,  as 
all  but  madmen  are.  He  felt  safe,  but  just  then 
he  would  liave  risked  any  danger  for  tlie  sake  of 
seeing  Francesco  open  the  door  and  walk  in. 

He  threw  away  his  cigarette  and  sat  down  to 
think.  His  eyes  fixed  tliemsclves,  as  his  (;hin 
ri^sted  on  his  liand  and  liis  (dbow  on  tlie  table,  and 
a  long  time  passed  before  he  ]noved.  Ihi'o  when 
he  got  up,  he  iiad  taken  hold  of  hims(df  again  and 
was  ready  to  begin  his  life  once  more.  His  weak- 
nesses did  not  last  long.  Francesco  was  dead.  H' 
it  had  been  to  do  over  again,  he  would  not  have 
done  it.  H«'  could  not  have  done  it  at  jdl,  in  cold 
blood, — perhaps  no  man    could, — and  there  had 


*  ^ 


li 


i 

1i 


m 


108 


COIiLKOXK 


been  iiiucli  to  rous(3  liiin.  lUit  siiiee  it  was  dono, 
Ffaiict'sco  cuuld  iM;vt'i'  again  make  lovti  to  Ali- 
andra,  and  tliert;  was  the  evil  satistactiou  of  having 
siiccessluUy  thrown  the;  guilt  upon  a  Saraciiiosca, 
of  all  pc'o])hs  and  so  clevurly  that  the  aeeused  man 
would,  in  all  probability,  be  condemned. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  at  the  instant  as  to 
what  he  should  sav,  and  he  had  said  it  all  to  the 
eori)oral  of  carabineers.  He  and  his  brother  had 
nu!t  in  Ilandazzo  at  liasili's  house,  and  intending 
to  come  U[)  to  Santa  \^ittoria,  had  laid  a  wager, 
the  one  who  first  entered  tlie  little  chundi  to  be  the 
winner,  and  Telxddcj  had  agreed  to  ride  bareback 
and  allow  ids  brother  a  start  of  live  miiuites. 
Francesco  had  killed  his  horse  and  had  run  for  the 
church  on  foot,  and  Tebaldo  had  entered  two  or 
three  minutes  late.  Doubtless,  he  had  said,  Fran- 
(^esco,  in  his  iiaste  to  win  tlie  bet,  had  run  against 
Jppolito,  and  in  a  moment  the  (piarrel  of  the 
previous  day  had  Ijeen  renewed  more  violently. 
Francesco  was  unarmed,  and  tlie  priest  had 
stabbed  him  instantly,  just  j»s  Tebaldo  came  in. 
The  wager  had  been  a  reckles,;  ;ind  foolish  one, 
no  doubt,  but  there  was  nothing  impossible  in  the 
story,  which  p(;rfectly  accounted  for  the  wild  rid- 
ing, in  case,  as  liad  really  happened,  anyone  had 
seen  tlie  two  men  on  tlie  road.  Xo  one  l)ut  Ali- 
andra  liasili  knew  how  tlu^y  had  left  her  father's 
house,  and  she,   for  her  own  sake,  and  certainly 


A> 


COliLKOXE 


ir»9 


for  Francesco's,  would  not  tell  what  she  knew. 
Sin;  was  sure  to  say  that  Tebahlo  had  borrowed 
the  horse,  ami  she  would  not  let  her  fatlier  know 
that  th(^  lirothers  wen^  (quarrelling  about  her. 
Nevertheless,  she  knew  that  much,  and  would 
guess  the  rest,  and  being  a  woman,  there  was  a 
possibility  that  she  might  vcdunteer  her  evidence 
when  she  should  hear  that  the  innocent  priest  was 
u})on  his  trial. 

It  was  necessary  to  see  Aliandra  at  once.  The 
crude  cynicism  whicli  was  at  the  root  of  the  man's 
strange  c]iara(;ter  canu*  to  the  surface  ag.ain,  as  he 
followed  out  his  triiin  of  tliougiit  and  discovered,  at 
the  end  of  it,  where  the  weak  point  of  his  safety  lay. 

He  sle[)t  little  that  night,  though  Ik^  was  weary 
from  the  mad  ride  and  shaken  by  the  strain  under 
which  he  had  lately  lived.  Again  ;ind  ;igain  he 
dnuimed  that  lie  was  doing  the  (h-ed,  and  awoke 
each  time  with  a  start  in  the  dark.  And  tlie 
familiar  perfume  of  Francesco's  dressing  tilings 
disturbed  him,  even  through  tlu^  stale  snujke  of 
the  cigarette  he  had  smoked.  Vet  one  of  his 
chief  (rharaeteristics  was  that  h(^  was  iilwiivs  readv 
and  not  easily  surprised.  ^Vaking,  he  realized 
e.'udi  time  where  Ik;  was,  who  he  was,  what  he  had 
dt  e,  Jind  the  fact  that  he  must  be  up  early  in  the 
morning,  and  each  time  he  laid  his  head  u[»on  the 
])illo\v  again  with  tlu;  determination  to  sleep  and 
uet  the  rest  he  needed. 


W  t^  i 


§ 


h, 


170 


COIilJ'JOXE 


A])art  fr(^ia  tlio  clt'iiuMits  of  fear  and  honour, 
ami  in  so  I'liv  as  tlio  mere  act"  of  killiii,i^  is  con- 
<'(>rii(*(l,  tlioi'c  is  hut  a  dilfcrcncM'  of  dcyivo  hctwcou 
the  honiiciih'  who  lias  stahix'd  a  man  iu  anger,  and 
the  sohlit'i*  wlio  has  killed  on;^  cncniy,  or  ten,  iu 
hattlt\  In  most  castas  tiie  honiiei(h'  is  pursued  hy 
a  fear  oi'  ('orise([uenees  to  which  the  sohlier  is  not 
sid)je('t.     Tel)ahdo  felt  himstdf  safe. 

]f(^  had  lost  no  time  in  so  lully  in<huiinifying 
Taddeo,  the  groeei'.  for  the  death  of  his  liors(>, 
that  the  execdlent 'mafleuso  '  had  no  ditlieulty  in 
])rovidin<4'  him  with  Liiother  in  tlu^  morning.  ITe 
ro(h'  up  to  tiie  earahineei's'  cpiarters  and  gav(^ 
notie(!  of  his  movements  Ixd'orc^  !^<'ii'o  down  to 
Ivandazzo.  lor  he  did  not  wish  to  appear  to  leave 
Santa,  X'ittoi'ia  without  ini'ormiiig  the  authorities. 
lie  WilS  told  that  Ippolito  had  heen  taken  to 
Messina  Iteldre  dawn,  and  that,  Ursino  had  accom- 
panied him.  He  had  decided  tJiat  his  hi'ot.her 
sliduld  he  Imried  nw  the  Idllownig  day,  and  nu'a.n- 
Avhile  the  collin  la\  in  t  lie  little  chni'ch  sui'ronnded 
hy  many  hnrning  candles,  and  pi'cpaiMtions  wer(^ 
hein;4  made  Inr  a  solemn  I'tMpiii'in.  Many  of  tl;e 
people  went  in.  on  theii-  way  to  their  work,  and 
knelt  a,  nioiiient^  t,o  say  a  jirayer  for  the  soul  (d' 
l''i'anceseo  ragliuea,  and  a,  shoit,  laii,  hearll"«dt  one; 
for  the  destrnclaon  (d'  all  the  Sai'acinesca,  in  this 
world  ami  the  next.  'This  seemeil  to  tJiem  i»ut 
simple    justice^    though   the   more   <l    ,nut   ol    them 


COULEOSE 


171 


vvoro  aware   tliat   it  was   sinrul   to  wisli   dcatli  t 


C) 


aiiyoiw 


'r('])al(l()  (lisnioimtcd  at  tlio  door  of  tlio  clmrcli, 
and  l)ad(*  ;i  loiterer  liold  liis  liorse  while  he  went 
in.  He  knew  that  tlie  wliole  jxipulation  wonhl 
think  it  stran,L;-(i  and  nnnatural  if  lie  siiould  pass 
by,  on  his  hnsiness,  without  stoppin;^^  aftei-  ,u;ivin^- 
sueh  (dahora.te  orders  for  tlie  funeral. 

For  his  own  |)art,  lie  would  L;ladly  h;i,ve  cseapcd 
tlie  u;dv  nt'ccssitv,  not  hccausr  the  li\  noerisv  of  it 
was  in  the  least  i-fpu^iiant  to  him,  hut  liccaus  •  he 
had  the  natui'al  animal  dislike  of  n-visil  ini,'  a  place 
whei'f  soniethin.L,^  trrrihlf  had  happcucd.  Il  was 
so  stron^i;-  that  he  ^^r-'W  pale  as  he  wciil  in  under 
the  door  and  walked  Uj»  the  aisle  to  the  catafahiue. 

Ihifc  the  wl  (de  place  seeuu'd  chani^'ed.  He  had 
n(M'ealizat  ie',1  '  'lie  fai't  thai  his  Itrother's  Imdy 
lay  in  the  .in'^ula.r  Ihiiii;'  under  the  hlack  pall. 
'I'liere  was  a  stronjjj  smell  of  iin-ense  and  many 
li<;hts  ver(»  liurninic.  Ih'  felt  tliat^  he  was 
ol)serve(  ,  and  his  nerxcs  were  sinLCiihirlv  ,l''"m(|. 
lie  I;nelt  some  time  with  henl  head  at  the  foot  i)^ 
t.he  eotlin,  til"!!  cl'i.^M'd  himself.  I'ose,  and  went 
out.      'I'he  people  ahout  the  d(M)r  maile  way  lor  him 


resoei 


•tfidl 


There  weie  two  oi'  three  of  the  \t'r\' 


]ioor  anioiiL;'   lliem.      No  one   he^s    in    that    part   of 
Sieih',  hut  'I'ehaldo  ,L;ave  ihem    the   copper  coins  he 


had  lo<..se  in  his  imk 


•ket 


ami  iiasseti  on 


(iod     will     lender    it     tii    you,"    said    the    \ 


lO(U' 


172 


COULKOXE 


pooplo,  kissing  tli<'  backs  of  their  own  fingers 
toward  him  as  a  way  of  kissing  his  liand  by  proxy. 
'HtoiI  bh'ss  y»»ul     'I'lie  Madonna  accompany  you!" 

As  he  mounted,  one  ohl  woman  tou(died  liis 
knee  and  then  kissed  the  hand  with  wliieh  she  had 
touehed  it.  He  nt>d(h'd  gi-avely  and  ro(U'  aw.ay, 
ghid  to  turn  liis  l)aek  on  the  ehurcli  at  Uist  and  get 
out  upon  the  high  road. 

'V\\(y  n"ws  of  I^'raneeseo's  (h'atli  liad  already 
I'eached  Uandazztt  bv  a  wine-('a,rriei'  wlio  liad  eomo 
(h>wn  witli  I  load  in  the  night.  l\d)ahlo  exjjeeted 
that  this  W(mhl  lie  the  ease,  and  lie  considered  that 
his  intei'vi»'w  with  Aliandra.  woidd  b(!  facilitated 
thereby,  lie  went  to  the  inn  and  put  u[>  his  horse. 
The  peo])le  treated   him  witli  a,  grave  and  sympa- 


tl 


lizing    respect. 


He    liad    ai'rived    thei-e    on    the 


pi'evious  (hiy  witli  a  b'W  belongings,  but  in  tiie 
suddi-nness  nf  cveids  the  landlord  did  not  consider 
it  strange  thai  he  shoidd  not  lia.ve  I'etui'ued  during 
the  night.  Tebaldo  did  not  \oliiiiteer  any  c\.|ilaiKt- 
tions.  but  weut  to  his  loom,  relVeshcil  himscdf, 
changed  his  (dotlies.  and  then  told  the  landlord, 
thai  he  was  going  to  see  Uasili,  the  notai'v.  Thi.", 
also,  seemed  (|uite  ualuial.  ill  such  a,  case,  as  iSasili 
had  always  bfcu  the  ("(uieoiic's  man  of  business. 

(icsualda opened  t  he  (|o(U'.  and  he  at  once  saw,  by 
the  gra\ity  in  her  ugly  lace  as  she  greeted  him, 
thai  she  kiie\»'  what  had  liappeiicd.  She  ushered 
him   into  the   front  room  downstairs  and  went  up 


CORLKONE 


173 


to  cjill  Alhindrii,  Tor  Tcbaldo  said  tliiit  ho  wisliod 
to  see  lu'i'  before  visiting  liei'  fiitbtu*.  He  stood 
waiting  for  the  young  girl,  and  going  to  the  win- 
dow lie  saw  that  the  fastenings  of  the  blinds  were 
broken,  and  he  reniendH  ri'(l  that  he  must  have 
broken  them  when  he  forced  tliem  to  look  out  after 
Frani^eseo.  Tlie  fact  brought  th<;  wliole  scene 
vividly  to  his  memory  again,  witli  all  its  details, 
and  he  rememl)(U'ed,  bv  the  connexion  of  little 
events,  much  that  he  h*ul  forgotten.  Notably  he 
recalled  distinctly  tlu  very  few  words  he  bad 
spoken  to  Alianilra  dui'ing  a  mei'ting  which  had 
scaroidy  lasted  two  minutes,  but  whicli,  l»y  tlie 
o|»eration  (»f  his  anger,  had  hitherto  seemed  aluKJst 
;i  blank  m  his  recollection. 

Alian(h'a  entered  the  room  and  spoke  tt>  liim 
first.  To  his  own  surprisi',  he  started  nervously  at 
t,lie  sound  of  hci*  V(»ic(?,  iM  ffiough  she  were  in  some 
wjiy  connected  with  1^'ranrcsco,  and  shoidd  have 
l»een  dead  with  him,  oi-  he  alive  witli  her.  I^'or 
.sinet;  his  bnitlier's  su(hleii  (h'pai'ture  fiom  L'ome, 
the  two  had  been  <  ojsstantly  linked  in  his  luind  by 
his  (h'sperate  jealousy. 

Alian(b'a  wore  a  loose  black  silk  morning  gown, 
and  slu;  was  pale.  She  did  not  r(»mc  up  to  Tebaldo, 
aft.er  .slie  had  (dosed  the  dooi',  but  seemed  to  hesi- 
tate and   laid   her  hand  upon   the  Ijack  of  a  chair, 


lool 


\ing  at:  him  earuesth 


His  f 


vvv  was  Lrrave 


lor 


he  kiu'W  his  risk. 


I»    t! 


A 


!|ii! 


It' 


« 


174 


COULKOMh 


'vl  li;ivt'  just  lioiinl,""  she  siiid  in  ;i  low  voice. 

•'  \'t's,"  he  said  iil'tt'i'  a  short  p;iiis(\  "  I  thought 
tluit  you  liiust  know.  1  w  ishcd  to  sec  you  Jit  once, 
so  1  caun',  thou'jh  he  is  not  l)Ui'i('(l  vt't."' 

"  I  am  L;lad,""  she  answered,  "  Tor  I  do  not  uudei'- 
stand.      It  all  si'euis  so  sti-au'^'e  and  terrihle." 

'"  It,  is.  Sil  (low  11  l»esi(h'  me,  and  1  will  try  to 
ttdl  you.  It  will  not  be  so  lianl  as  it  w:is  to  tell 
the  authorities  un  in  S;int;i  \'ittori;i  vestei'(i;iv.  [ 
lt)ve  vou,   Aliiindra,.      'J'hiit  is  why  I  came  to  you." 

It  was  true  that  he  lovi'd  h'T,  but  that  was  not 
the  reason  of  his  eomiug.  \'et  he  spok(!  simply 
and  sineeridy,  aiul  she  sai('  nothin.i^'',  but  sat  down 
at  a  little  distance  irom  him  and  lolded  her  luuuls, 
waitini;'  for  him  to  tell  his  story. 

"  1  love  you."  he  repeated  slowly  and  thoui^ht- 
fiilly.  "When  he  hdt  ivoiiie,  I  knew  that  he  must 
iiave  come  \\\  \<)M.  and  as  soon  as  I  could  Ljet  away. 
I  lollowed  him.  sui'e  that,  1  should  lind  him  here, 
for  I  was  jcahms  of  him,  jealous  t.o  madness, 
reoplc  lau'jli  at  jealoiisw  'I'lieN'  do  not  kiiow 
what,   it   is."      lie   paused. 

"  No,"  she  answered  L;rav(dy,  for  she  reniein- 
beriMl  liow  he  had  looked  when  he  had  entei'cd  tin; 
house  oil  the  pii'\  Lolls  aflernoon.  "No.  People 
d(t  not  under.staiid  what  \\.  is.      (Jo  on.   please." 

"It  is  a  hell  111  soul  ami  body.  When  I  came 
here  yestcnhiy,  I  meaiil  to  eoiue  in  at  once.  As 
I  passMi  under  the  window  I  heard  your  yoices  dis- 


('OIiLFJ)XE 


75 


tiiH'tly.  TIkm'c  whs  ho  one  in  tlio  stroot,  iiiid  T 
It'iiueil  aii'jiiiist  tlio  wall  and  lu^ird  what  vou  said. 
I.  lonclu'd  llic  blinds  once  or  twice,  nn)viii,!^'  tliem  a 
litth',  so  ;is  to  lu'ar  hettei'.  'IMicn  !  heard  him  tidl 
you  that  falsehood  abont  my  en^'agemeid-  to  Miss 
Sla.yback,  and  I  pnt  my  hand  on  the  sill,  to  draw 
myself  np  and  deny  it.  lUit  1  strnek  my  head 
nndei"  the  blinds  that  were  pnshed  out.  TluMi  1 
heard  him  (U)me  to  the  window,  and  1  aski'd  him 
to  come  ontside.  "N'on  kn(jw  how  he  lied,  while  I 
was  here,  and  1  took  youi-  lather's  mare,  without 
saddle  or  bridle  and  chased  him.'* 

'' VeS;  yon  friglitened  me,"  said  Aliandra,  as  he 
pansed  aijain.  "  I  had  to  tdl  my  fathei-  that  yon 
had  borrowed  the  mare.  She  came  back  of  her 
own  ac(M)rd  and  was  staiidin^i,^  ontsile  the  stable 
'M,te  this  mornimr,  waitin-jj  to  be  let  in,  all  ('(.^vred 


itl 


witn  nnui 


IM 


ease  ^o  on  ipi u 


■klv 


1? 


"It  rained.  'IMumv  was  a  terrible  tlinnfh'i'storm. 
1  overtook  him  two  or  three  lailes  on,  where  th«! 
I'oad  winds,  for  he  saw  that  it  was  sen.^eh-ss  to  rnn 
awav,  as  thon.i^h  1  wishetl  to  injnr(*  hi^    .'' 

*•  N'ou  looKcd  as  tJion.L,di  yon  did,"  s      I  .Miandi'a, 


tl 


ion«j:n 


t.fnlb 


1  do  not  w<nider  th        le  tied. 


I    (U)  not  sav  t;lmt    if    1    had    b-.^  td   him   here 


1    mi'jht    not.    have    handled    him        u.i^hlv 


sa 


id 


'l'el)aldo,  wisely 


lint  tlie  .r;ill( 


loled  ns 


both 


1 


snpoose 


And  yon  know  that  \s  nen  he  cliose   he 


had   a.  i4'entle,   i^ooibna tared   way   (d'  speakin;,;  t!iat 


I ' 


m 


176 


I  on L EON K 


(lisiirnuHl  (me.  Yes  —  wet  (luiirrcllod  about  yoii  at 
iirst  for  a  wliilc,  and  then,  bcin^^  cooler,  as  I  said, 
u(^  rode  ([iiictly  along  together,  though  we  did  not 
say  niueh.  On  the  more  levid  jtart  of  the  road 
liighei'  uj),  he  began  to  talk  oi'  th(^  horse  he  was 
riding,  which  Ixdonged  to  'I'addeo,  tln^  grocer,  and 
was  a  good  beast,  but  1  said  that  your  lather's  niarci 
was  the  fleeter,  Jind  he  denied  it.  At  last  he  i)ro- 
])osed  that  '.>e  should  settle  the  (juostion  by  racing 
u|)  to  th(^  town.  The  one  who  got  into  the  little 
church  of  Santa  Vittoria  outside  the  gate  was  to 
win.  1  ga\'e  iiiiii  four  Uiinutcs'  start  by  my  watch, 
because^  I  was  lighter  and  was  riding  bareback.  Do 
you  unchM'stand?  " 

lie  looked  at  her  keenly  and  expectantly,  for  the 
story  sounded  very  plausible  t-o  him.  She  nodded 
slowly,  in  answer,  with  a  little  contraction  of  the 
eyelids,  as  though  she  were  weighing  the  [lossi- 
bilities. 

"  1  had  him  in  sight,  and  then  \  fell  with  the  mare 
at  a  jump,  lor  I  had  no  bridle  and  could  not  lift  her 
]»roperly.  Ihit  we  wei'i*  not  hurt,  ami  1  got  on  again. 
1  saw  him  again  Ixd'ore  nu^  on  tlu^  long,  straight 
stretch  ujt  to  the  cemet<'rv.  Taddeo's  horse  must 
have  had  an  aneurism,  I  should  tliiiik,  for  just 
beyond  the  gate  it  lolled  over  stone  dead.  I  sjiw 
r'i'ancesc.o  jump  olf  as  the   beast  staggered,   for  he 


ki 


lew  wiiat  was  the  mal-tei 


r>ut  he   meant  to  win 


the  bet    and  b(^  in  the   church  iirst.      lb;    ran  up 


Jii^ 


CORLKOXE 


177 


till!  lust  bit  liko  a  deer,  and  ilisiij)|)(»an'(l  over  tli(^ 
.shoulder  of  the  hill.  It  all  happened  in  a  moment, 
and  I  had  still  a  (piai'ter  of  a  mile  to  make.  See- 
ing that  lie  must  win,  1  did  not  hurry  the  mare, 
but  she  took  frigiit  at  tiie  dead  liors(!  ami  liolted  u[) 
the  last  liit.  At  the  ehureli  J  got  off  and  hit('he<l 
the  halter  to  a  stake  that  iiad  been  driven  into  th«^ 
ground  for  a  banner  at  the  last  festa.  1  did  - 
carelessly,  I  suppose,  for  tiie  mare  got  loose'.  I 
do  not  know.  When  I  entered  th(»  ehureh  I  saw 
my  brother  westling  with  lppolit(j  Saracineseji 
on  till!  steps  of  the  altar,  and  tlu!  priest  had  a 
big  knife  in  his  hand  and  struek  him  before  1  was 
half  way  up  the  ehureh." 

'i'ebaldo  was  now  exeessividy  pale,  and  there 
wail  a  nei'vous  tremor  in  his  voice.  Aliandra  was 
almost  as  pah*  as  lie,  l)ut  still  1,  r  !  ds  were  a  little 
drawn  in,  and  slie  kept  her  eyes  on  him. 

"  Vou  ha,ve  lieai'd  the  rest,"  said  Tebaldo,  and 
his  mouth  was  so  ilw  that  lu!  could  hardlv  sneak. 
"  I  locked  the  pi'iest  into  the  church,  whicli  has  no 
other  door,  and  I  wtut  f<»r  the  caraitineers.  Tliey 
took  him  down  to  Messina,  early  tliis  morning, 
befori!  tiie  peoph'  wen'  about  in  the  streets,  and 
he  will  be  comniittiMl  for  trial  wilh<iut,  doubt.  His 
hands  were  covei'cd  with  Itlond,  and  he  had  tJie 
knib'  in  his  pocket.  lb'  hail  cleaned  t.lie  blade 
ea.i'e fully  on  his  pocket,  handkerciiicf.  like  a  fool, 
instead  of  throwing  it  away  into  a  coitier.      As  foi' 

vol..    II.  -  -  N 


178 


iw^^m^i^ 


the  reason  of  tlu*  \u\ir(jvA\   ^^'iinccsco  and  \\v  li.ul 


conu' 


tc.  1.1 


uws  on 


\\\v   (1: 


IV  oi'l'ori'  \  esti'i'day  m  tlu*. 


road.  The  |>i  icst  aduiittvd  lin' tact.  Ueavi'U  only 
knows  what  thry  wni'  (inantlliuM'  ahonl,  l)\it  it 
must  have  lu'guu  aiijain  \n  llu*  riiwu-h.  \l  all 
events,  that  is  what  hapixni'd,  and  my  poor 
bi'otlier   is  th-ad.      (lod    rest    his    .soul." 

'*  Anu'n,"  said  Aliandra,  nu'ehanicsilly. 

Tebaldo  wi[ted  the  moisture  trom  his  pale  fore- 
liead,  ,L;lad  that  he  had  told  his  story  and  ttdd  it  so 
well.  it  was,  nuh'ed,  a  uiaivellouslv  Ineid  nar- 
rative,  in  ^vhi^h  he  had  taken  lull  ailvanta,L;e  of 
every  avail  litle  traniiient  oi'  trutli  U)  streu'dhen 
and  eoh^Hv  tJir  vreneral    falsehood. 

Aliandra.  like  any  I'casonahle  person,  would 
lia\e  found  it  hard  t(i  hrlievi'  that  a,  man  supposed 
to  have  the  luaiiut'i's  anil  civilization  of  a  modern 
^^'iith-nian  couM  d<>  what.  Tcl.aldo  liad  really  dom*. 
Ihit.     n    till'   otluT  liaiid,   it.  was  even  hai'der  to  sec 


low   tlie   ( 


Ic.d 


coil 


Id  ll 


ll 


lavi'   iiccn    (ion<^   l)v  on(^ 


wl 


lO 


was  not  (Mil)    just  as   civilized,  but  a  churchman 
l)t'.siih's. 

Slif  had  been  terribly  sliocked  by^  the  lu'w.s  of 
Franeesco's  death,  which  had  reached  hci-  only  a 
few  minutes  Ixd'ore  'rei)a.ldo  had  apix'ared.  She 
remcuibei'cd  tlie  latter's  faci',  an<l  the  terror  of  the 
Ibrmer  on  the  pr.'\  ions  alternoou.  she  i'enuuubere<l 
that  the  other  hrotJci-  had  brcii  a  bi'iL;aud,  or  little 
better,  aud    she    kuew    uiauv   stories  of  the   Tauli- 


i 


I 


COltLIJONIC 


179 


U(;;i's  wild  doini^s  beloro  they  had  gone  to  Tloiiic. 
It  would  have  surprised  Iht  far  K-ss  it  (icsiialda, 
wlio  liad  heard  tin'  stoiy  troia  tlic  cartrr  iiiinscll", 
had  told  la;r  that  one  hrnthcr  liad  killtMl  tlic  other, 
than  it  did  t-o  be  told  that  the  .guilty  man  was  a 
iioiuan,  a  jjriest,  and  a  Saraeiiu'sca. 

Jhit  Tehaldo's  story  was  idausii)le,  and  she  had 
to  admit  that  it  was  as  she  thou,L;ht  it  over,  lie 
had  evidently  been  nndei-  a  stron^^  emotion  whih; 
ttdlin*,'  it,  too,  and  the  I'aet  was  in  his  I'avour,  in 
her  cyc'S,  for  shi'  had  been  fond  <d'  l^'raneeseo. 

"  Ilavo  you  ttdd  nu^  tin;  whole  truth?"  she 
asked  suddenl}',  alter  a   lon;^  silence, 

"Of  cours<'  I  have  told  you  tiie  truth,"  ht3 
answered,  with  a,  half-startled,  nervous  intonation. 

"  You  have  not  alwavs  done  so,"  said  she,  lean- 
ing  bacdi  in  her  eliair.      "  I  hit  I  do  not  see  wh}'  yo 
slioidd  eoneeal  anvthin-''  tVnm  me  now 


u 


V 


Vou  will  see  it  all  in  the  account  of  the  trial." 
It  is  terrible!"  she  ex(daimed,  reali/inur  once 


more  what  it  all  nu'ant. 


Terrible,  terrihle,"  she 


repeated,  ])assin,L;  her  hand  over  her  eyes.      ''Only 
yesterday  he  was  here,  sitting  besido  me,  telling 


me  — 


>) 


Sh(^  stop]H'^fI  short. 

**  Yes,  I  heard  wliat  he  told  vou,"  said  're))aldo, 


in    an    altered    voice 
over  it ." 


a 


It    1 


s     ol     no     use    to    ifo 


I    was   iouil   (d'   him,"  she   answered, 


I   was 


u  Mr 


m 


180 


COliLKOSE 


very  fond   of  liiui.      I    liuvc   (tft«Mi   told  you  so.      \t 
is  (li'cadi'iil  to  think  tliat  we  siiall   ncviT  sc(^  liii 


11 


a;4aiM -- ncvt  r  licar  liis  voice  —  " 

llt'i'  eyes  filled  with  tears,  (or  beyond  the  first 
horroi"  ot  his  death  there  was  the  sadness.  IFe 
had  heen  so  younic.  so  full  of  life  and  vitality. 
She  eouhl  hardly  understand  that  he  was  .i^'one. 
The  tears  welled  over  slowly  and  rolled  down  her 
smooth  cheeks,  unheeded  for  a.  few  UKunents. 

*•  I  wish  1  kiu'W  tlu^  truth,"'  she  said,  rousing 
hei'self.    and   drvinii'   Iier  eves. 

'•  ihit  I  have  t(dd  you  the  truth,"  answered 
'rel)aldo,  with   a  return  of  nervous   iui[»atienee. 

"  \'es,  1  know.  IJut  there  must  he  moi-e.  What 
was  Ihei-e  Ix'tween  him  and  the  iiriest?  Why  did 
they   li^ht   in   the  road'.'     It  all  seems   so   improl)- 


ahh 


S( 


»  iii\  strrious.      1  wish  !  knew 


\'ou   know   all   ihat    1    know,   all    that,  the   la 


\v 


Knows. 


1 


e;innot,  invent,  an  exp 


ilaiiat^ 


ion. 


It  is  a,  mvsterv  to  vou,  tito,  then?      Wm  do  not 


understand 


•>   '9 


"  1  do  not.  understand.  \o  one  knows  all  t\\c. 
truth  hut  li>|)olito  Saraeinesca.  lie  will  ])i'ohal)ly 
tell  it  in  seli-defeiice.  If  he  eoiihl  prove  that  my 
hi'other  attacked  him  lirst,  it  would  make  a  }.>"reat 
difference.  ||e  will  try  to  make  out  that  he  killed 
him  in  self-defence. '' 

"  It   is  very  mvsterious,"  i-epeated  .Miamlra. 

They   talked    in    the   same    way   for   S(»me    time. 


('OHLFJ)NK 


181 


rrnidiuilly  licr  distrust  ol'  him  disii|)[)OMnMl,  because 
lie  did  not  try  to  provt;  too  iniicli,  and  his  own 
story,  as  \w  went  over  tin*  points,  S(M'nied  to  Imm* 
more  and  more  lucid.  lie  took  advantai^c  <jf  liule 
(juestions  she  put  to  liim,  from  time  to  time,  in 
orch'r  to  show  lier  liow  very  eom[)hle  the  account 
was,  and  liow  utterly  beyond  liis  own  comprt'hen- 
sion  he  tiiouii'lit  the  liuht  at  the  cemeterv  on  tlic 
(hiy  Ind'ore  the  murder.  Ifewas  amaziiiinly  (piick 
at  usiuL;  whatever  jtresented  itstdl'.  Her  doul)1s 
did  not  reidly  leave  le-r,  and  thry  wouhl  i-eturn 
ai^'ain  after  he  was  j^one,  Init  tliey  sanl<  out  of  licr 
rea(!li  as  she  listened  to  him. 

Then  she  made  him  .<;o  upstairs  with  her  and 
t(dl  the  wiiole  story  to  her  father.  Tebaldo  sub- 
mitted, but  the  strain  on  him  was  becoming  very 
L;reat,  and  the  pers[>iration  stood  in  n'reat  drops  on 


his  1 


trows, 


as  he  went  over   it  all    for   r»asili.      lb 


knew  that  the  notary  was  a,  man  not  e;is']\'  de- 
ceived, and  was  wtdl  aware  that,  his  o|iinion  would 
lie   received    with   respect   by   the    princijtal    peojde 


in 


K;>nd; 


iz/o. 


II 


e    was,    tlu'ridorc,    nu)rc    carid'ul 


than   ever  to    state    each     point,   clearly  and  accu- 


rated 


y 


w 


e    saw 


moreover,   that   Aliandra    wa- 


listeniuLr  as  attentivcdv  as  bcfor 


I 


1  )SS 


ibb 


now 


that  he  was  no  lon^-er  speaking'  directly  to  her, 
her  doubts  were  cominL!:  to  the  surface  ai;"ain.  Ihit 
Tebaldo's  aerves  wi'rc  good,  and  he  went  to  the 
end  without  a  I'ault.      The  notary  only  asked  throo 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


•^  1^    1112.2 


1^ 


2.0 


1.8 


1.25      1.4 

1.6 

< 

6"     - 

► 

V. 


M. 


V 


/A 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


•N? 


4^ 


\\ 


o^ 


'^. 


#^    «^' 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRHT 

WIBSTH.N.Y.  MS80 

(71«)  872-4503 


182 


CO  U  LEONE 


or  four  sim])le  and  natural  questions,  and  he  did 
not  S(>ein  surpr:sed  that  Tehahlo  should  not  know 
the  (jiiuse  of  the  disagreement  between  his  brother 
and  ri)i)olito. 

Aliandra  went  downstairs  with  Tebahh.).  She 
seenu'd  to  ex[)eet  that  he  sliouhl  go  awa}',  for  slie 
stood  still  in  the  hall  at  the  foot  of  the  stone  stair- 
case. 

''  When  are  you  going  back  to  Ilonie?  "  he  asked, 
for  he  wislied  to  st'c  her  a,gain. 

"As  soon  as  niy  father  can  sparer  nie,"  she 
ans\v<.'red. 

''  1  shall  have  to  i;o  down  to  Messina  to  give  my 
evidence."  lu^  said.  ''When  the  funeral  is  over, 
to-morrow  morning,  L  shall  conn3  here,  and  go  on 
to  Messina  the  next  day.  iVFay  I  see  you  to- 
morrow iil'tcrnoon?" 

To  liis  sur])rise,  she  liesitated.  She  herself 
sc.arc(dy  knew  whv  slu;  did  not  at  onc(^  assent 
naturally. 

"  Vcs,''  she  said,  after  a  pause.  "I  suppose  so, 
if  you  wish  to." 

"I  do  wish  to  se(>  you,"  he  answered.  "  Y^ou 
have  no  reason  to  doubt  that,  at  all  events." 

"  Vou  s})(>ak  as  thougii  I  had  ri^ason  to  doubt 
other  things  you  have  said.'"  She  watched  him 
keenly,  for  the  oiu^  incautious  litth^  spinach  had 
weakiMUMl  tlie  effect  he  had  [iroiUiced  with  such 
skill. 


coriLF.oyF. 


188 


''You  iiretended  to  (l()ul)t,"  lie  answored  l)()l(lly. 

Yon  asked  me  if  1  xvas  telling  you  tlie  truth 
about  luy  brother.  That  u'as  doubtin-  was  it 
not?  Vou  always  do.  I  think  you  do  not  even 
believe  tliat  I  lov(^  vt)u." 

"  I  only  half  l)elieve  it.  Are  you  o-oiug  over 
tlie  diseussion  we  had  in  Konie,  ai^'ain?" 

"No.      Tt  Avould  be  useless." 

"I  thiidc  so  too,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  grew 
suddenly  eold. 

He  sighed  and  turned  from  her,  towards  the 
door.  It  was  tlie  first  perfectly  natural  ex])ressiou 
of  feeling  that  had  escaped  him,  and  it  was  little 
enough.  But  it  to-clied  her  unexpectedly,  and 
she  felt  a  sort  of  pity  for  him  which  was  hard  to 
b(^ar.  That  one  audibly  dra.wn  breath  of  pain  did 
more  to  persuade  her  that  he  really  loved  lier  than 
all  the  words  he  had  ever  spok(Mi.  She  CiilhMl  hini 
back  when  his  hand  was  already  on  the  door. 

"Tebaldo  — wait  a  moment!"  Her  voice  was 
suddenly-  kind. 

He  turned  iu  suri)rise,  and  a,  softer  look  came 
over  his  dra.wn  and  tired  features. 

'•  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  se(^  you  when  you 
com(^,"  sh(^  said  gently.  "T  do  uot  know  whv  L 
Ju\sitated — I  did  not  mean  to.  Come  whenever 
you  like." 

She  li(dd  out  her  ha,nd,  and  he  took  it. 

"You    may   think    the    worst  you    will    of    jue, 


ilill 


184 


(JOULKONhl 


Aliiuulni/'  he  said. 


not  love  you 


ii 


I)  lit  do  not  til  ink  tluit  1  do 


?.■> 


''I  believe  you  do,''  slie  answered  in  tlie  same 
gentle  tone,  and  she  pressed  his  hand  a  little. 

flust  as  lie  was  about  to  open  the  door,  her  (^yes 
fell  upon  the  ritie  Fi'aneesco  had  left  standing  in 
the  coi'iu'i'. 


Take    vour   brother's   u'lin,"   she   said. 


u 


r  do 


)t   like   to   see    it   here.      1    am   sad 


enougii 


h  al- 


nor    iiKe 
ready." 

He  sli])ped  the  sling  over  his  shoulder  without 
speaking,  for  the  odd  sensation  that  Franceseo  was 
not  (h'ad,  a,t'ter  all,  eaiiu;  over  him  as  on  the  pre- 
vious eveniie'-,  and  with  it  the  insane  loni'-inu^  to 
see  his  brother  alive.  ][e  ftdt  that  his  faee  mii>'ht 
betray  him,  and  lie  went  out  hastily  into  the  noon- 
(hiy  glare.  Tlu^  heat  restored  the  balance  of  his 
nerves,  Jis  it  generally  did,  and  when  he  reached 
the  inn  he  was  e;ilm  and  collected. 

Alia,ndra    went   ii[)stairs    to    her    father's    room, 


ai 


id    sat  down   beside   his  couch,  in.   silence 


Tl 


le 


suuli'';ht    tiltered   throim'h    the    lireen    blinds,    and 


o 


broughl  the  warm  scent  ol'  the  cjirnations  i'rom 
without,  'i'he  notary  lay  back,  with  halF-cdosed 
ey(*s,  apparently  studying  the  (pieer  outline  of  his 
splinted  leg  as  it  a,i)[)i!ar(.'d  through  the  thin, 
tiowei'i'd  eliiiit/  coverlet. 

''  l^'or  niy  part,"  he  said,  without  moving,  a,nd  as 
thou.u'h  eoncludinu'  a  train  of  thoimht  which  he  had 


COliLKOXE 


IcSf] 


IS 


IxMMi  fullowiiij,^  for  a  long  time,  "  I   do  not  believe 
one  word  of  the  story,  from  beginning  to  end." 

"Yon  do  not  believe  Don  Tebaldo's  story?" 
askecl  Aliandra,  more  startled  than,  surprised. 

''  Not  on<'  word,  not  one  lialf  word,  not  one 
syllable,"  replied  the  notary,  em))hati(';illy.  '' AVe 
ean  say  it  between  oursidves,  my  daiightei'.  Ft' 
my  sister  wcvv  here,  I  slionld  not  say  it,  for  sh«^  is 
not  discreet.  It  is  a  beautiful  storv,  well  (uun- 
posed,  logical,  studied,  (H''(M'vthing  you  like  that  is 
]»erfect.  It  must  have  taken  much  thought  to  put 
it  togetlnu'  so  nic(dy,  ami  it  is  not  inrclligence  that 
Tebaldo  L*a,gliuca  lacks.  I>ut  no  one  will  make 
me  believe  that  a  (piiet  little  Koman  ])riest  could 
have  killed  one  of  those  Corleone  in  that  way.  It 
is  too  improbable.  It  is  a  thing  to  laugh  at.  Hut 
it  is  not  a  thing  to  Ixdieve." 

"  I  do  not  know  what,  to  say,"  answered  Ali- 
andra,, a.ll  her  doubts  springing  up  again. 

''  \V(^  are  not  calbnl  u[)on  to  say  anytiiing.  The 
law  will  ta,ki^  its  course,  and  if  it  condemns  an 
innocent  Italian  —  W(dl,  it  has  condemned  many 
innocent  Sicilians.  The  one  will  pay  for  tlie 
other,  I  sup[)ose.  Ihit  as  For  tlu^  tacts,  that  is 
a  diffiu'cnt  matter.  I  daresay  the  ])riest  had  a 
knife  of  his  own  in  his  ])ocket,  but  it  was  not  the 
knife  that  killed  Tagliuca.  Now,  I  do  not  wish 
to   imply  that  Don   Tebahh)  kilh'd   hiui  — " 

"That     is     impossible!"    exclaimed    Aliandra. 


ip 


iliif 


1 8<; 


coriF.oxE 


1:    ' 

;|  '  ^        i 
1  i  ^'1 

'•  He  could  not  como  Lore  jind.  talk  about  it  so 
cahnly.  The  iikuh^  idea  makes  me  sliiver.  "What 
I  tliink  is  tliat  someone  (dse  killed  liim,  — ^a  brig- 
and, pei'liaps,  for  some  old  (piarnd,  and  that 
Tebaldo  lias  tlirown  tlie  blame  on  the  priest,  just 
because  ho  is  a   Saracinesca." 

"  Perliaps.  Anytliing  is  ])ossible,  exce])t  that  the 
|)ri(^st  kiHt^l  liim.  lUit  as  we  know  nothing,  it  is 
better  to  say  nothing.  It  might  be  tlionght  that 
we  favoured  the  Romans." 

''It  is  strauge,"  said  Aliandra.  "AVhen  lie  is 
speaking,  I  belitn-e  all  ]w.  says,  but  now  that  lu'  is 
gone,  T  feel  as  3'()u  <1(>  about  it.  He  said  he  should 
come  back  toMuorrow," 

"  It  is  of  no  use  for  you  to  see  him  again.  Why 
does  he  come  liere  ?  I  (h)  not  wish  to  l)e  involved 
iu  this  affair.  Make  an  excuse,  if  he  comes,  and 
do  not  see  him." 

"Ves,"  answered  AliaiubM.  'M  will  numage 
not  to  see  him.      It  is  of  no  use,  as  you  sav." 

Tebahlo  ro(h'  l)a('k  to  Santa  Vittoria  to  l)ury  his 
bi'otlier.  Almost  the  whole  population  followed 
th(^  funei'al  I'rom  ilie  churcli  to  tlie  cemetery,  and 
it  was  easy  to  se(»  liow  the  [)eople  looked  a,t  the 
nia,tttvr.  Tebaldo  received  a  summons  to  appear 
anil  giv(^  his  evidence  in  two  days,  a.nd  lu;  left  tlie 
village  (Mi'ly  in  order  to  lia.ve  tinu'  to  spend  iu 
llandazzo  with  Aliandra,  beloi'c  tiddng  the  after- 
noon train  from  I'icdimonte  to  Messina. 


con LEO \E 


18' 


One  tliino-  oiily  lio  liad  left  undone  wliieli  he  liad 
intended  to  do,  for  it  had  been  impossible  to 
accomplish  it  witliout  attracting  attention.  He 
had  meant  to  get  into  the  little  church  alone  and 
recover  the  knife  he  had  dropped  tlirougli  the 
gi'ating  that  stood  before  tlie  glass  casket  in  wliicli 
the  bones  of  tlie  saint  were  preserved.  As  tlie 
details  of  those  short  and  terrible  moments  came 
ba,ck  to  him,  he  remendjered  tliat  tlie  tiling  had 
not  dro])ped  far.  He  had  heard  it  strike;  the  stone 
inside  immediately,  and  though  it  was  improbable 
that  the  grating  sliouhl  be  opened  for  a  hmg  time, 
yet  the  wea[)on  was  there,  waiting  for  someone  to 
find  it,  and  possibly  for  some  to  recognize  it,  for  he 
had  possessed  it  several  years. 

The  first  rcijuiem  mass  for  Francesco  had  been 
sung  in  the  jiarish  church,  for  the  curate  had  said 
that  Santa  Vittoria  must  be  reconsecrated  by  the 
bishop  b(;fore  mass  could  be  C(debrate(l  there  jm'ain, 
the  crime  committed  being  a  desecnition.  Tebiildo 
thought  it  just  possil)l(3  that  at  the;  bishoji's  visit 
the  gra,ting  might  Ix^  opened  in  order  to  show  him 
tin;  casket,  lint  this  was  bv  no  imnins  certain. 
On  the  whole,  he  Ixdieved  hims<df  saf(\  iV)r  there 
was  no  name  on  tlu;  slie;vth  of  the  knife,  and  he 
did  not  I'cmember  that  he  had  ever  shown  it  to 
a,nyone  who  could  identify  it  as  Ixdonging  to  him. 

ife  had  sent  for  a,  crn'riage  mkI  drove  down  to 
Randazzo,    stopping    at    the    inn,    as    usual.      lie 


'I 


18S 


coiiJ.F.oyE 


knodaul  a,t  tlu^  door  of  the  uotiii'v's  house  a  few 
miimte.s  later,  ex])eetiiig  to  be  admitted  by  CJesu- 
[ilda.  To  his  surprise,  no  ont^  came  to  h^t  hiiu  in. 
lie  kuoe,ked  twice  again  wit^i  the  same  resnlt,  and 
was  about  to  go  away,  wlicn  JJasili's  man,  th(!i 
saiiic  who  lia,d  aceompanied  San  (iiaeinto  and 
Orsino  to  Camaldoli,   opened  tlie  stabh;   gate  and 


came  ni 


to  1 


iim. 


"There  is  the  notary,"  lie  said.  "Xo  one  else  is 
at  home.  The  Signorina  Aliandra  has  ta-ken 
Gesualda  and  is  gone  out  to  visit  fri(Uids  in  the 
country.  They  will  not  come  back  before  to- 
morrow.    The  notary  sleeps." 

Tebaldo  was  very  nuich  sur^irised  and  discon- 
certed.  He  rememl)ered  how  kindly  and  gently 
Aliandra  had  sjjoken  when  he  had  parted  from 
her,  and  he  could  not  understand.  She  had  left 
no  message,  and  iu  w.is  <  Icar  enough  that  she  had 
gone  away  in  order  to  a,void  him.  lie  went  back 
to  the  inn,  a  good  deal  disturbed,  for  if  she  wished 
to  avoid  him,  it  must  bt;  because  she  had  some  sns- 
picion.  That  was  tlu;  only  conclusion  which  he 
could  reach  as  he  thouglit  the  nuitter  over.  It  was 
by  no  means  al)S()lut(dy  logical,  being  suggested 
by  the  state  of  his  conscience  rather  than  by  the 
operation  of  his  reason. 

Ife  was  disturbed  and  nervous,  and  he  realized 
with  a  vague  trepidation  that  instead  of  forgetting 
what  he  had  done,  and  becoming  hardened  to  the 


(JOIILEONE 


189 


I 


coiiscioiisness  of  ic,  lie  wiis  siiffVring  from  it  more 
and  more  as  the  liours  and  days  went  l)y.  Little 
tilings  came  back  to  tlieii- lost  j)lace8  in  liis  mem- 
ory, whieli  miglit  have  been  noticed  by  otiier 
people,  and  mi^^ht  betray  him.  To  liiinself,  know- 
i.  '.  lie  truth,  tluj  story  he  had  invented  looked  far 
\^ss  probable  than  it  appeared  to  those  who  iiad 
heard  it  from  him. 

He  thought  of  writing  to  Aliandra,  for  he  was 
bitterly  disappointed  at  not  seeing  her;  but  when 
he  considered  wlnt  he  could  say  in  a  letter,  he 
saw  that  he  could  only  tell  her  of  his  disappoint- 
ment. ^Vhat  he  unconsciously  longed  for,  was  tlie 
liberty  to  speak  out  plainly  to  someone,  and  tell 
the  whole  truth,  with  perfect  sa,fety  to  liimscdf. 
But  that  desire  was  still  vague  and  unformulated. 

There  was  no  i)ossibility  of  waiting  till  the  next 
day  to  see  Aliandra  when  she  returned.  He  was 
expected  to  appear    on  the  following  moriiin<'-  in 


IVIessina,  to  give  his  evidence,  and  he  had  no  cl 


loice 


but  to  go  at  once.     He  left  Kand; 


izzo  with  a  1 


heart,  and  a  feverish  sensation  in  Ids  head. 


leavy 


I 


i  I 


1 1 

1 1 


f  ? 


! 


:'    iiP 


1^1'        E 
If''        ' 

m  i 


1:1 

■'5  ii 


CI  I  AIT  KK    XX  XT 

Ii'iMUJTo  was  conniiittiMl  foi-  trial  on  llie  cliari^^e 
of  haviii!^^  killed  Fi-ancosco  Paglinca  in  the  churcli 
of  Santa  \^ittoi'ia,  and  Tebaldo  Pai^-liuca  was  the 
l>rin('i[)al  witness  ai;"ainst  him.  Tliat  was  the  resnlt 
of  the  preliminary  examination  in  Messina. 

No  one  believed  that  Ippolito  had  committed  the 
crime,  neitlier  the  jud.^'e  nor  the  prefect  of  the 
province,  nor  the  carai)inei'rs  who  had  arrested 
him  and  brought  liini  (h)\vn.  Yet  the  evidence 
Avas  such  that  it  was  ini]»ossible  to  ac(piit  liim, 
and  liis  obstinate  silence,  after  a  sim[)le  denial  of 
the  chari^e,  ])n/zlcd  the  authorities.  It  ^vas  the 
ex])ressed  o})inion  of  the  judge  that,  in  any  case, 
and  supposing  that  tht^  })riest  were  guilty,  it  was 
not  a  murder,  but  a  homicide  committed  in  a  strug- 
gle, which  had  been  the  result  of  a  quarrel  entirely 
unaccounted  for.  Taking  TeV)aldo's  own  story  as 
true,  it  was  clear  that  Francesco's  appearance  in 
the  church  had  been  too  sudden  and  unexpected 
to  allow  of  the  smallest  ])renieditation  on  Ippolito's 
part.  'I'ebaldo  said  that  he  had  come  in  and  seen 
the  two  lighting.      The  judge  observed  that,  if  a 

struggle  had  taken  ])lace,  it  was  more  than  prob- 

11)0 


m  ii 


I 


COliLKONE 


191 


!      Ill 

^ted 


able  that  Fraiioosco,  (  fining  suddenly  iipon  Tppo- 
lito,  hail  sprmiL;"  u[)oii  him  to  aven.t^e  himself  for 
haviii!4"  ])eeu  maltreated  ])y  the  priest  on  the  [»revi- 
ous  day.  Here  Orsino  rose  and  told  the  story  of 
that  lii'st  ([u;iri-el,  as  he  had  heard  it  from  his 
brother  immediately  after  it  had  ocenrred.  On 
being  (jucstioned,  I[)p()lito  a,dmitted  the  jx-rfeet 
truth  of  the  story,  and  the  judge  ordered  that 
Concetta's  evidence  should  be  taken  at  Santa 
Vittoi'ia  by  a  de[)uty  of  the  court. 

Tebaldo  had  been  in  complete  ignorance  of  the 
tru.li  about  ('oncetta,  but  he  saw  that  it  W(juld 
])e  best  to  take  the  judge's  view.  For  all  he  knew, 
he  said,  his  brother  might  have  attacked  T])p()lito 
on  entering  the  church.  Ippolito  was  at  liberty  to 
say  so,  if  he  chose,  observed  Tebaldo.  The  fact 
did  not  militate  against  his  own  story,  in  the  least. 
On  the  contrary,  it  accounted  for  the  struggle. 
Francesco  was  nnarmed,  however.  Tebaldo  was 
prepared  to  swear  to  that,  and  did.  Tppolito  did 
not  know  it,  and,  being  attacked  suddenly,  might 
have  drawn  his  knife  and  defended  himself. 

Tlie  woi'st  of  all  this  was  that  it  lent  a  faint  air 
of  probability  to  the  accusation,  of  which  Tebaldo, 
with  his  nsual  quickness,  took  advantage  at  once. 
J)Ut  the  judge,  in  his  heart,  was  no  more  inclined 
to  believe  ri)polito  guilty  than  b*  fore,  though  ho 
saw  no  way  of  accpiitting  him.  The  young  priest 
stood  calm   and  self-possessed   between   the   cara- 


!l 


1  r 


192 


VOliLEOyK 


m 


l)iuoors  tl  1  roil i^li out  tlic  wliolc  cxaniintition,  and  liis 
(|iiiet  f\v('s  made  Ti'baldo  uiicoiiifoi'tal)!^. 

San  (riacinto  arrivi'd  fi'oni  Koiuc  Ixd'oi-c  thr  In^ar- 
ing  was  finished,  and  entered  tin;  courtroom  when 
Tebal(h)  was  s[)eakini;\  Tlu're  was  something  so 
gk)omily  ominous  al)out  thi^  gi'f.Y  <>hl  giant's  eyes 
that  even  Tebahhj's  voiee  elianged  a  littU^,  as  lu^ 
spoke.  San  (iiarinto  had  twiee,  in  serious  affairs, 
been  tlie  means  of  clearing  nuitters  up  suddenly 
and  com[)letely,  and  as  Orsino  grasped  his  luige 
hand,  he  felt  that  all   would  be   well. 

The  judge  admitted  l[)polito  to  bail,  and  San 
Giacinto  offered  himself  and  was  accepted  as 
surety,  being  a  large  landowner  in  Sicily  and  a 
person  well  known  throughout  the  country.  The 
trial  would  prol)ably  not  tak(^  place  before  the 
autumn,  but'  there  is  a  great  latitude  allowed  in 
Italy,  in  the  nuitter  of  bail,  excei)t  when  the 
pi'isouer  is  charged  with  premeditated  murder. 

*' 1  think,"'  said  San  (Jiacinto  to  the  judge,  wlien 
the  proceedings  were  officially  closed,  "  that  it 
would  l)e  worth  your  while  to  visit  Santa  Vittoria 
in  person."" 

Tebaldo  heard  and  listened,  and  he  thought  of 
the  knife  under  the  altar.  If  the  jndge  should  go 
to  the  churidi  and  insist  upon  examining  every- 
thing thoroughly,  it  migiit  be  found. 

"Tlie  second  hearing  will  not  come  before  nie,-' 
observed  the  judge.     ''Nevertheless  —  "     He  liesi- 


CORLF.OyE 


108 


tated  .1  moiiioiit  and  llion  s[)()ko  in  a  lower  Umv. 
^'Tlie  case  interests  me  very  niueli/'  lie  said.  ••  I 
should  like  to  see  the  })laee  where  it  ha])i)ened. 
I  might  take  that  country  girl's  evidence  myself. 
and  visit  the  church  at  the  same  time.  Yes,  1 
tliink  T  shall  accept  the  suggestion." 

Though  he  had  lowered  his  voice,  Tebaldo  had 
lieard  most  of  what  he  had  said,  and  more  than 
enough  to  increase  the  fear  of  discoveiy,  which  was 
rapidly  growing  np  in  the  i)lace  of  tlie  cynical 
certainty  of  safety  which  he  had  at  first  felt.  Xor 
had  the  examination  gone  so  absolutely  against 
Ippolito  as  he  had  hoped.  The  judge  and  the 
officials  were  evidently  in  sympathy  with  the  ac- 
cused man,  and  Tebaldo  had  l)een  heard  witli  a 
sort  of  cold  reserve  which  snggested  a  dovd)t  in 
his  hearers.  Like  Aliandra  and  her  father,  they 
all  felt  the  ntter  improbability  of  the  story,  as 
they  com])ared  the  accused  with  the  accuser, 
though  they  had  been  obliged  to  admit  just  so 
much  as  they  had  no  means  of  denying. 

The  view  taken  by  the  law  on  the  strength  of 
the  whole  evidence  can  be  summed  up  in  a  few 
words.  Francesco  Pagliuca  had  assaulted  a  young 
country  girl  on  the  high  road.  She  had  screamed 
for  help.  I])polito  Saracinesca  had  been  near  and 
had  saved  her  and  soundly  beaten  her  assailant. 
On  the  very  next  occasion  of  meeting  him  by  acci- 
dent, Francesco  had  rushed  at  the  priest  to  repay 

VOL.    II.  — O 


i»  I 


d 


1 T 


194 


COIiLEOyE 


I  ilil ' 


his  score  of  blows,  and  tlie  priest,  taken  iinawaves, 
had  defended  h  (df  with  a  knife  lie  had  about 
him,  and  whicli  bis  brother  had  insisted  that  he 
should  carry,  ft)r  the  very  reason  that  he  might,  at 
any  moment,  be  ;issaulted  by  Francesco.  It  ^/as 
not  justitiable  homicide,  assuredly,  but  there  were 
a  great  many  extenuating  circumstances.  That 
was  as  mu(di  as  the  men  of  the  law  could  say  for 
Ippolito,  on  the  evidence;  but  not  one  of  them 
believed  that  he  had  killed  Francesco. 

The  three  Saraciuesca  men  left  the  court  to- 
gether and  drove  away  in  a  closed  carriage.  They 
decided  that  Orsino  and  Ippolito  should  return  to 
Eome  at  once  and  (piiet  the  family  l)y  their  appear- 
ance, while  San  Giacinto  Avent  u[)  to  Camaldoli,  to 
keep  matters  in  order  as  far  as  he  could.  Orsino 
offered  to  go  back  alone,  if  San  Giacinto  would 
accompany  his  Ijrother,  but  the  big  man  preferred 
to  take  matters  into  his  own  hands,  as  he  usually 
did  when  tluu'c  was  a  crisis  of  any  sort. 

When  the  two  brothiu's  werci  jilone  in  their  com- 
partment in  the  train  that  left  Keggio  that  even- 
iuj^,  wrsino  di'ew  a  long  breatli.  Tlie  sunset 
glow  was  over  the  liills,  and  the  rushing  breeze 
that  bh-\v^  in  througli  tlie  open  window  was  sweet 
and  clean  to  the  taste  after  the  foul  air  of  filthy 
Messina  and  tlu'-  ahnost  more  ])oisonous  atnu)S- 
phere  of  the  courtroom.  Orsino  hjoked  out  iu 
silence  for  a  few  moments,   to)  glad  to  speak  to 


COIiLEOXE 


195 


Tppolito.     When  ho  looked  round  at  Last,  he  .saw 
that  liis  brother  was  leanui! 


back  in  the  opposite 
corner,  with  chased  eyes,  one  hand  thrust  into  the 
bosom  of  his  cassock,  the  other  lying  upon  the  seat 
behind  him.  Orsino  watched  him,  expecting  that 
presently  he  would  open  his  eyes  and  begin  to 
talk.  But  Ippolito  had  fallen  asleep  almost  in- 
stantly in  his  corner,  exhausted  by  the  long  strain 
of  days  and  nights  spent  in  terrible  auxiety. 

No  one  ever  knew  what  he  ]iad  suffered  durincr 
that  time.  Though  of  a  fibre  different  from  his 
father  and  his  brothers,  he  was  strong  and  liealtliy, 
but  in  those  few  days  he  had  become  thin  and 
white,  so  that  he  looked  positively  delicate  now,  as 
he  leaned  bac' 


m 


corner, 


His  jinxiety  liad  iu)t  Ijoen  all  for  himself.  Tt 
was  a  fearful  thing,  indeed,  to  be  accused  of 
inurder,  and  be  led  like  a  murderer  througli  a 
yelling  rabble,  to  be  lodged  in  a  prison,  to  be 
thrust  forward  to  the  bar  of  .a  crowded 
to  answer  for  a  grcnit  crime.     IJut  it 


cuurU'oom 


Avas  worse  to 


be  accused  by  the  real  murderer  ami  to  be  bound 
by  one  of   tlie  nn)st  solemn  of   all  vows  to  I 


Keen 


11 
tliat    murderer's    secret   and   bear   his    accusation 

without  giving  one  hint  of  tlie  trutli. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  at  tlie  first  relief  from 
such  a  tension,  he  should  fall  asleej)  at  last,  and 
Orsino  was  ghid  when  he  saw  and  partly  under- 
stood.     He  had  slept  little  himself  since  the  night 


i»! 


"I 


;  I 


i\' 


tl 


B 


196 


con LEONE 


of  Francesco's  death,  but  ho  couhl  not  liave  rested 
now,  for  he  still  had  much  anxiety  and  many  things 
to  distuib  his  peace.  He  was  in  profound  ignorance 
of  what  had  happened  to  Vittoria  and  lier  mother, 
thougli  he  had  b(H'n  almost  hourly  in  communica- 
tion with  his  own  family. 

Corona's  hrst  impulse  had  been  to  leave  Rome 
instantly  and  join  her  sons,  and  it  had  been  with 
tlie  greatest  difficulty  that  Giovanni  had  persuaded 
her  to  await  the  result  of  the  pridiminary  hearing. 
He  himself  was  afraid  to  leave  her,  and  he  had 


])ei 


feet  confidence   in   San  Giacinto.     He  was  in 


reality  most  preoccupied  about  his  wife;  for  he, 
like  everyone  else,  was  struck  from  the  first  by 
the  outrageous  improbability  of  the  accusation. 
He  hardly  ate  nor  slept,  himself,  it  was  true,  but 
he  was  all  along  pcu-i'ectly  certain  tliat  Ippolito 
nuist  be  at  libei'ty  in  a  few  days,  and  that  tlie 
whole  truth  must  be  known  before  long. 

Corona  said  little  after  she  had  cousented  to 
remain  at  home,  but  sh(^  suffered  intensedy.  The 
beautiful  high  features  were  like  a  white  marble 
mask,  and  \v\um  she  spoke  at  all,  her  words  were 
bri(d',  nervous,  almost  hard.  Her  (>yes  were  like 
black  ste(d,  .and  her  figure  grew  slighter,  and 
seemed  to  grow  taller,  too.  (Jiovanni  tliouglit  that 
tlie  little,  soi't,  gn^y  stri'aks  in  her  intensely  black 
hair  were  suthhMdv  growing  l)road  a,nd  silverv.  He 
was  almost  more  anxious  for  her  than  for  Ippolito. 


I!      ' 

I 


COllLEONE 


107 


But  she  never  broke  down  in  any  way.  She 
showed  herself  to  the  worhl,  in  liei-  carriage,  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  tliough  she  received  no 
one  during  those  days.  She  knew  how  to  hear  suf- 
fering, for  she  liad  borne  much  in  early  life,  and 
Giovanni  needed  not  to  fear  for  her.  lie  hardly 
hd't  her.  They  so  l)elonged  to  each  other  that  it 
was  easier  to  Ijcar  trouble  together.  Possibly, 
tliougli  he  did  not  know  it,  he  looked  to  her  in  his 
anxiety  quite  as  mucli  as  she  looked  to  him.  It 
would  have  been  hard  to  say;  for  where  there  is 
such  sympatliy,  such  trust,  and  such  love,  there 
is  also  a  sort  of  community  of  courage  and  of 
strength  and  of  endurance  for  a  joint  suffering. 

Wlien  the  news  of  the  decision  in  INIessina 
came,  however,  Giovanni  considered  the  troulde  to 
be  at  an  end.  Corona  only  smiled  faintly  [is  they 
J'ead  tlie  telegram  together. 

"At  lil)erty  on  bail,"  she  said  slowly.  "That 
is  not  an  acquittal.     He  is  still  a(!cused   of   tl 


le 


murtlei 


xh 


'J 


liong  before  the  trial  we  shall  luive  discovered 


th(^  trutli 


1,"  answered  Giovanni,  conHdeutly. 

"  Until  we  do,  lie  is  still  accused  of  the  nuirder," 
repeated  Corona,  with  slow  insistence. 

She  had  not  believed  it  [)ossible  that  he  (!ould 
be  held  for  ti'ial.  J  hit  the  gladness  of  a  near 
meeting  with  him  stole  u|)on  her  anxiety. 

As  soon  as  the  first  greetinu's  were  over,  he  went 


198 


CORLEONE 


fHli'^f 


witli  her  to  lier  own  sitting-room,  and  tliey  re- 
mained alone  together.  For  a  long  time  she  held 
his  hands  and  looked  into  his  eyes,  while  he  spoke 
to  her. 

''Do  not  ask  me  any  questions,  mother  dear," 
he  said,  smiling  at  her.  "You  know  that  I  did 
not  kill  the  poor  man,  and  no  one  believes  that  I 
did.  ])o  not  let  them  torment  me  with  all  sorts 
of  questions.  If  I  eould  answer  them,  I  should 
have  answered  them  at  once.     I  cannot." 

Still  she  did  not  speidi,  for  Orsino  had  written 
and  telegraphed  every  detail,  and  had  again  and 
again  s[)oken  of  Tp[)olito's  inexplicable  silence. 

•*  ^I other,  trust  me,  and  do  nut  ask  me  ques- 
tions," said  the  young  priest,  earnestly. 

''Yes,"  she  said  at  last.  ''I  trust  you,  and  I 
always  luive.  I  was  not  hesitating,  my  dear,  and 
I  sliaU  never  ask  you  anytliing  about  it,  nor  allow 
anyone  else  to  do  so,  if  I  can  prevent  it.  lUit 
it  lias  (hiwned  on  me  —  the  truth  I  wanted.  I 
believe   I   understand." 

A  startled  look  canu^  into  Tp])olito's  eyes,  and 
his  hands  closed  suddenly  upon  hers.  lie  o])ened 
his  li[is  to  s[)eak,  but  could  not  hud  wise  words, 
for  he  believed  that  she  had  guessed  the  ti'utli,  by 
some  extraoi'dinary  and  supernormal  process  of 
intuition. 

"No,"  sh(.'  s;iid  reassuringly,  "do  not  be  afraid. 
i  sliall  not  even  tell  you  what  I  think.,  and  I  shall 


COR LEONE 


199 


certainly    not    tell    anyone    else.      But  —  "      She 
st()])pe(l  suddenly. 

"But  what?"  he  asked,  in  the  utmost  anxiety, 
searching  her  eyes. 

"Nothing  that  T  need  say,  my  dear  boy,"  she 
answered  quietly.  "It  is  better  to  say  nothing 
about  such  things  when  one  is  not  sure.  Sit  down 
beside  me,  and  let  us  be  together  as  we  used  to  be 
before  all  this  hap[)ened." 

He  sat  down,  and  tliey  remained  long  together. 

There  was  but  one  opinion  in  Rome.  Everyone 
said  that  T(>bal(lo  l*;igliuca  know  mort;  about  his 
brother's  death  than  he  chose  to  t(dl,  and  had 
managed  to  cast  th(^  burden  of  evichniee  against 
Il)polit().  Hundreds  of  i»e()[)l(?  ealled  at  the 
Palazzo  Saracinesca,  and  Tpixdito  iia,d  scores  of 
notes  from  friends,  congratulating  him  on  having 
regained  his  liberty. 

Old  Donna  Francesca  ('am])odonico  came  to 
see  Corona,  a  saintly,  shadowy  woman,  who  lived 
alone  in  a  beautiful  old  [)alace  near  tlie  Tibtu-. 

"A  Corleone,  my  dear!"  slie  said.  "What  do 
you  expect?  We  ai-e  told  to  love  our  enemies,  it 
is  true,  but  we  are  {it  liberty  to  lov(^  thmn  as  ene- 
mies, and  not  as  frieiids.  In  oi'(U>r  to  do  that  it  is 
necessary  to  distinguisli  them,  and  the  more  cleai'ly 
we  draw  tli«i  line,  the  better." 

"It  is  refreshing  to  hear  you  speak  of  anyone 
as  an  enemy,"  answered  Corona,,  with  a  smile. 


*l 


200 


COULEONE 


a 


]\Iy  dt 


5? 


a 


id  Douiia  Francesc 
liuiiuin,  I  assure  you.  Xover  have  anything  to  do 
with  a  Corleone  or  a  IJraccio.  There  is  very  little 
to  choose  between  us.  We  are  hereditary  sin- 
ners ! " 

She  was  a  Braccio  herself,  and  Corona  laughed, 
though  she  knew  there  was  truth  in  the  saying. 
The  Braccio  people  luid  many  friends,  but  so  far 
as  the  Corleone  were  concerned,  all  Rome  agreed 
witli  Donna  Francesca,  and  congratulated  tlie 
Saracinesca,  (piite  regardless  of  the  fact  that 
Ippolito  was  not  really  ac(piitted. 

But  Corona  was  not  as  she  liad  been  before,  and 
her  eyes  followed  Ippolito  about,  wlien  he  was 
within  siglit,  witi:  a  sort  of  wondering,  anx- 
ious expression  that  showed  how  [)erpetually  her 
thoughts  were  occupied  with  him. 


I'll 


CHAPTEll   XXXII 


Orsixo  made  an  attempt  to  see  Vittoria  on  the 
day  after  liis  return.  The  liveried  porter  put  his 
ear  to  the  speaking-tube  as  of  ohl,  and  then,  shak- 
ing his  head,  tohl  Orsino  that  the  hulies  couhl  see 
no  one.  lie  vohmteered  the  information  that 
Donna  Maria  Carolina  was  very  ill,  and  that  her 
servants  believed  her  to  be  out  of  her  mind,  sinee 
the  death  of  her  second  son.  The  young  lady  did 
not  go  out  every  day,  he  said.  When  she  did,  he 
always  heard  lier  tell  the  coachman  to  drive  to 
the  Hotel  Bristol.  There  were  two  sisters  of  the 
French  order  of  the  Bon  Secours  who  took  turns 
as  nurses,  with  her  mother.  The  doctor  came 
twice  daily,  and  sometimes  three  times.  The 
porter  had  asked  the  doctor  about  Donna  Maria 
Carolina,  and  he  had  answered  that  she  was  in  no 
danger  of  her  life.     That  was  all. 

The  porter,  as  has  been  said,  volunteered  the 
information;  but  if  he  did  so,  it  was  because  he 
knew  Orsino  and  had  read  in  the  newspaper  a  full 
account  of  Francesco's  death,  and  of  the  hearing 
at  ]\Iessina.  Being  a  good  lioman,  he  felt  per- 
sonally  outraged   at   the    idea   tliat   any   mamber 

201 


H 


r 


i':r 


■if- 


1;! 

\    : 

r'        ■  ■ 
:'l            'r 

! 

202 


COBLEONE 


iit 


1- 1 


of  ii  ^I'Gfit  old  Koniiin  liouse  should  bo  accused  of 
killing  ii  Siciliiiu  geiitlcniaii.  He  might  kill  him, 
if  lie  cliose,  the  porter  thought,  but  it  was  an 
abominable  insult  to  accuse  him  of  it.  The  man 
had  never  liked  Francesco,  who  had  been  stingy 
and  self-indulgent,  spending  money  on  himself,  but 
never  giving  a  present  to  a  servant  if  he  could 
help  it,  and  generally  ready  to  find  fault  with 
everything.  Tebaldo  Avas  not  mean.  Orsino, 
when  he  gave  at  all,  gave  lavishly,  and  he  gave 
whenever  lie  happened  to  think  of  it,  as  he  did 
to-day.  The  ])orter  bowed  low,  as  mu(di  to  the 
bank-note  as  to  the  heir  of  all  the  Saracinesca,  and 
Orsino  went  ;iway. 

He  wondered  why  Vittoria  went  to  the  Hotel 
Ih'istol  whenever  she  went  out.  He  remembered 
having  ouc'  or  twice  left  cards  there  on  foreigners, 
but  he  could  not  remember  their  names.  He 
might  recognize  them,  however,  if  he  saw  them, 
and  he  drove  to  the  hotel  at  once.  Looking  down 
the  list  of  t]\<^  guests,  he  immediatidy  cann^.  upon 
the  names  of  Mrs.  and  INfiss  Slayba,ck,  and  he 
remendxu'cd  how  it  had  been  said  of  late  that  the 
young  AnuH'ican  girl  was  to  marry  Tebaldo  Pa- 
gliiica.  It  was  tolerably  (dear  that  these  were  the 
people  whom  Vittoria  visitcil  when  she  went  (mt 
at  c'lll.  Orsino  remembered  that  he  had  been 
introduced  to  them  at  some  })arty.  AN'ithout  the 
smallest  hesitation  he  sent  up   his   card   to   Airs. 


con LEONE 


208 


Slayback,  and  in  a  very  short  time  was  requested 
to  go  u[)stairs. 

Mrs.  Playback  received  liini  with  cool  interest, 
and  showed  no  surprise  at  his  visit. 

"I  have  been  in  Sicily  most  of  the  time  since  T 
had  the  pleasure  of  being  introduced,  or  T  should 
have  done  myself  the  honour  of  calling  sooner," 
said  Orsino,  rather  formally. 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Mrs.  Playback.  "  I  quite 
understood." 

She  was  silent,  as  though  expecting  him  to  open 
the  conversation.  That,  at  least,  was  what  he 
thought. 

"You  are  staying  in  Rome  very  late,"  he  began. 
"Of  course  it  is  cool  here  compared  with  Sicily, 
and  June  is  really  one  of  our  best  months,  but,  as 
a  rule,  toreigners  are  afraid  of  the  heat." 

But  she  had  not  wanted  that  sort  of  conversa- 
tion, and  had  only  been  making  up  her  mind  how 
she  should  speak,  being  taken  at  short  notice  by 
his  visit.  He  was  a  good  deal  surprised  at  what 
she  said. 

"  1 'lease  do  not  talk  about  the  weather,  Don 
Orsino,"  she  began.  "T  am  v^ery  glad  that  you 
have  come  to  see  me,  for  I  am  in  great  per[)lexity. 
T  know  that  you  will  tell  me  tlie  truth,  and  you 
may  help  me.     AVillyou?" 

"Certainly,"  answered  Orsino,  becoming  grave  at 
once.    "  Anything  that  I  coidd  do  —  "     lie  waited. 


sM 


204 


CORLEONE 


"My  niece  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  Don 
Tebaldo  Pagliiiea.  She  is  an  orphan,  a  niece  of 
my  husband's,  and  is  —  well  —  rich,  to  say  the 
least  of  it.  She  has  fallen  in  love  with  this  young 
Sicilian  and  insists  upon  marrying  him.  The 
Komans  say  that  it  is  a  family  of  brigands.  You 
shot  one  of  them  in  self-defence  not  long  ago,  and 
now  tlie  papers  say  that  your  brother  has  killed 
Don  Francesco,  whom  we  knew.  It  is  rather  an 
awful  double  trag(-dy  for  civilized  motlei'ii  life, 
you  kiu)w.  Such  things  ha])pen  with  us  in  the 
West,  though  not  so  often  as  fornundy,  but  they 
do  not  happen  to  people  who  live  in  Xew  York, 
for  instance." 

"1  hope  not,"  said  Orsino,  gravely.  "Sicily  is 
a  good  deal  less  civilized  tliau  your  West,  I  fancy. 
]]ut  I  assui't;  you  that  my  brother  did  not  ivill 
Franceses)  Pagliuca,  thougli  I  believe  he  knows 
wlio  did  kill  him.  lie  only  tells  me  that  he  did. 
not,  and  1  am  willing  to  give  iny  word  for  him, 
on  the  strength  of  his." 

"But  Don  Tebaldo  gave  evidence  on  oath  that 
lie  saw  your  brotlier  do  it,"  objected  jMrs.  Slay- 
back. 


And  Don  Tebaldo   is   enu'ai^ed  to   marry  vour 


o^"o- 


You  will  allow  me  to 


?j 


niece,"  auswered  Orsino. 
say  that  the  fact  silences  me. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  ]\Irs.  Slayback,  "for  I  do  not 
wish  my  niece  to  marry  him.     I  come  to  you  for 


COR LEONE 


205 


an  argument  against  the  marriage.  I  do  not  wish 
to  silence  you,   as  you  call  it." 

"You  know  Don  Tebahlo  very  well,"  replied 
Orsino.  "  You  have  probably  formed  an  opinion 
about  his  character.  I  am  in  a  very  difficult  posi- 
tion with  regard  to  him,  myself." 

He  wondered  whether  Vittoria,  growing  intinuite 
with  the  American  girl,  had  spoken  of  him. 

"Your    position    cannot    be    half    so    hard    as 


jj 


mine. 

jV[rs.  Playback  spoke  with  a  conviction  which 
reassured  him,  and  he  merely  bent  his  liead  a 
little,  as  thougli  assenting  to  what  she  said. 

"It  is  clear,"  she  continued,  "that  since  you 
know  that  Don  Tebaldo  has  s'vorn  to  this  evidence, 
while  you  yourself,  on  your  brother's  word,  are 
willing  to  swear  to  the  contrary,  you  believe  that 
Don  Tebaldo  is  deliberately  perjuring  himself. 
That  is  perfectly  clear,  is  it  not?" 

Orsino  said  nothing,  but  he  could  hardly  keep 
from  smiling  a  little  a'  her  directness. 

"Very  well,"  she  went  on;  "should  you  allow 
your  niece,  or  your  sister,  or  anyone  belonging  to 
you,  to  many  a  man  who  has  deliberately  perjured 
himself?" 

"  You  are  perfectly  logical, "  said  Orsino. 

"Oh,  perfectly!  I  always  was  thought  so,  in 
my  family.  And  now  that  you  have  helped  me  so 
far,  for  which  I  am  really  very  grateful,  can  you 


i>  I 


I! 


206 


COllLEONE 


m 


tell  mu  whether  Don  Tel)iildo   is  coming  V)ack  to 
ItoiiK'  at  once?  " 

"  I  iini  >s(nTy,  bnt  I  know  nothing  of  his  move- 
ments. J  believe  yon  know  liis  sister,  Donna 
Vittoria,  v^erv  well,  do  you  not?  I  should  tliink 
she  might  be  able  to  tell  you.  His  mother  is  very 
ill,  poor  lady." 

He  ]iad  taken  the  first  possible  opportunity  of 
introducing  Vittoria's  name. 

"'  Vittoria  comes  to  see  Lizzie  whenever  she  can 
get  out  for  an  hour,"  answered  j\Irs.  Slayback. 
"But  yesterday,  wlien  she  was  here,  slie  did  not 
know  anything  about  her  brother.  I  tliink  she 
does  not  like  to  talk  of  him,  for  some  reason  or 
other.     Have  you  seen  lier  lately?" 

She  asked  tin;  (piestion  very  naturally  and 
easily. 

"No,"  said  Orsino.  "  Her  mother  is  ill,  and  she 
has  no  one  else  with  her.  She  could  not  receive 
me,  of  course." 

"I  sn])])ose  n(.>t.  She  could  in  America.  She 
is  sure  to  come  to-morrow  afternoon  about  five 
o'clock,  1  should  think,  unless  her  mother  is  much 
worse.  We  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you  if  you 
like  to  come  in  for  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  You  are  very  kind  —  very  kind,  indeed,  and  I 
will  come  with  pleasure,"  Orsino  answered,  sur- 
pris(Hl  and  delighted  by  the  unexpected  invitation. 
That  is,"  said  i\[rs.  Slayback,  as  thougli  cor- 


ii  Tl 


con LEONE 


207 


recting  herself,  uiid  not  lieeding  lii.s  answer,  "tluit 
is,  you  know,  if  you  luive  no  objection  to  meeting 
])onnii  A'ittoi'ia  after  all  this  dreadful  husiness. 
If  you  have,  come  in  the  next  day,  and  we  shall 
be  idone,  I  daresay." 

Again  Orsino  found  it  hard  not  to  smile,  though 
lie  was  very  far  indeed  from  anytliing  like  niirtli. 

"It  would  be  more  lik(dy  tliat  Donna  Vittoria 
might  object  to  seeing  me,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  no!"  replied  Mrs.  Slaybaek,  with  alacrity. 
"I  think  she  likes  you,  by  th(^  way  she  sometimes 
speaks  of  you,  and  she  does  not  believe  lier  brotljer 
any  more  than  you  or  I  do,  I  can  see,  thougli  slie 
does  not  quite  say  so.  Indeed,  I  hardly  under- 
stand her.  She  wears  black,  of  course,  and  they 
see  no  one  since  that  poor  num's  death,  init  she 
comes  here  just  the  same.  As  for  being  sad,  she 
was  always  sad,  ever  since  I  knew  her." 

"She  has  liad  enough  to  sadden  her,"  said 
Orsino,  gravely.  "None  of  us  who  liave  been 
concerned  in  this  dreadful  affair  can  be  anything 
but  sad  just  now." 

When  he  went  away  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  as  to  whetlier  Mrs.  Playback  knew  anything 
of  his  love  for  Vittoria  or  not.  Foreigners,  and 
especially  Americans,  were  unlike  otlu-r  people, 
he  thought.  It  never  would  have  occurred  to  any 
Koman  lady,  a  mere  ac([uaintance,  to  ask  him  to 
come  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  meet  two  young  girls. 


'fe'r 


208 


CORLEONE 


W 


m' 


An  intimate  friend  niiglit  liave  done  it,  in  order 
to  do  liini  a  service,  but  not  a  mere  accjuaintance. 
But  foreigners  were  different,  as  lie  knew. 

He  pondered  the  (question  all  night,  and  the 
next  day  seemed  very  huig  until  it  was  time  to 
go  up  to  the  Hotel  Bristol  at  live  o'clock.  He 
thought  the  correct  Swiss  porter's  face  relaxed  a 
little  whon  he  saw  the  card  Orsiiio  gave,  as  if  he 
had  been  told  to  expect  him.  This  was  the  more 
apparent  when  Orsino  was  ushered  upstairs  at 
once. 

He  heard  an  exclamation  in  Vittoria's  voice  as 
he  entered  the  drawing-room,  and  then  for  a 
moment  he  seemed  to  himself  to  lose  conscious- 
ness, as  he  advanced.  He  had  not  known  what  it 
would  be  to  be  brought  face  to  face  with  her  after 
all  that  had  ha[)i)en(Ml. 

>i'eith(U'  she  nor  jNliss  Slayback  saw  anything 
unusual  in  his  face  as  he  came  forward,  and  the 
latter  certainly  had  no  idea  how  disturbed  he  was, 
as  she  smilingly  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  Vit- 
toria  had  uttered  the  one  little  cry  of  surprise, 
and  then  she  fidt  vevy  cold  and  frightened  for  a 
moment,  after  which  she  apparently  regained  her 
composure. 

"  My  ;iunt  is  lying  down  in  the  next  room,  so  iu 
is  perfectly  proper,"  said  Miss  SlayV)ack,  in  tht? 
very  words  she  had  used  to  Tebaldo. 

Her  voice  brought  Orsino  back  to  lively  conscious- 


r 


CORLEONE 


209 


ness  at  once,  and  as  lie  sat  down  noarly  opposite  to 
the  two  young  girls,  he  ghinced  from  the  one  to 
the  other  <|uickly,  ])efoi'e  h)oking  h)ng  at  Vit- 
toria.  j\Iiss  Lizzie  seemed  worn  and  harassed,  he 
thought,  and  mueh  less  pretty  than  when  he  had 
last  seen  her.  There  was  a  nervous  restlessness 
about  her,  and  she  Avas  unable  to  sit  still  for  a 
moment  Avithout  mov^ing  her  hands,  or  her  head, 
or  her  shoulders,  to  look  round,  when  uhere  was 
nothing  to  look  at. 

Vittoria's  gentle  young  face  was  undeniably  sad. 
She  did  not  look  weary  like  her  friend,  for  she  was 
not  naturally  nervous;  but  there  was  something 
shadowy  and  luilf  etluu'eal  aV)out  her  eyes  and 
features  that  moved  Orsino  strangely,  lie  made 
a  civil  remark  to  ]V[iss  Slaybiu'k,  in  order  not  to 
be  silent,  and  she  answered  him  in  short,  brokt^n 
little  sentences.  Somehow  tlie  whole  position 
seemed  odd  to  him.  All  at  once  ^liss  Lizzie  rose 
to  her  feet. 

I  knew  I  had  foru'otten  somei  liiner!  "  she  said. 


li 


n 


ii 


It    is    the   dav   for   letters   to   catch   the    French 
steamer,  and  I  have  not  written  to  Uncle  jJen.      t 


al 


wavs  wri 


te   1 


iim 


a  lii 


le   once   a   week 


1) 


mnn 


1 


amusinir 


I) 


on    Orsino, 


Vitt 


oria, 


o   vou 


Just 


moment,   you  know — I  can   write  a  letter  in  ten 


minutes 


J? 


And  l)ef'ore  Vittoria,  couhl  answer,  sli(>  was  gon«', 
talkinn'  as  she  went,  and  not  lookiiiu"  back.     As  the 


!i 


VOL.    II.  —  I' 


1  i 

1  ! 

■    -  ■  ■ 

210 


con LEONE 


k 


i 


<l 

I 
t 

i 

IB 

I  ji' 

door  closed  aftor  her,  Orsiiio  was  beside  Vittoria, 
with  both  her  hiinds  hidden  in  his  and  lookincr 
into  her  faee.  She  met  his  eves  for  a  moment, 
and  her  head  sank  on  his  breast,  as  though  she 
were  very  tired. 

"It  is  not  meant  to  be,  love,"  she  said,  and  he 
could  but  just  hear  the  words. 

"It  shall  be,  whether  it  is  meant  or  not,"  he 
answered,  bending  down  to  her  little  ear. 

"It  is  all  too  terrible!"  She  shook  her  head 
against  his  coat,  hiding  her  face.  "Nothing  but 
deatli,  death,  everywhere  —  my  2:)oor  brothers  — 
one  aft(n'  the  other."  Slie  roused  herself  and  laid 
her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  looking  up  suddenly 
into  his  fiice  with  wiiU%  searching  eyes.  "Tell 
me  that  I[)p()lito  did  not  kill  him!"  she  begged. 
"Tell  me  that  it  is  not  true!  t  shall  believe  you. 
I  cannot  believe  myself,  wlien  I  say  it." 

"It  is  not  true,"  a.nswered  Drsino,  earnestly.  "  I 
will  pledge  you  what  you  will  for  my  brother,  my 
Avord  of  honour  —  everything.  It  is  not  true." 
He  re[)ea,ted  the  words  slowly  a,nd  emphati(!ally. 

"I  know  it  is  not,  when  you  say  it.^'  IT(U'  head 
sank  upon  his  shoulder.  "Jhit  it  is  all  so  terrible, 
so  horrible!  Tebaldo  killed  him.  I  know  it.  I 
knew  h(^  would,  when  I  saw  his  face  that  night, 
after  they  had  ([Uiirridled.  'J'ebaldo  has  put  it 
upon  your  brothi'r — I  know  it,  though  1  do  not 
know  how  it  was." 


CORLEONE 


211 


she 


'T 


He  kissed  lier  hair,  for  lie  coukl  not  see  her 
face. 

''It  is  a  worse  crime  than  if  Tppolito  had  killed 
him  to  defend  himself,"  she  said.  "I  feel  — I  do 
not  know  — but  I  love  you  so  — and  yet  — oh, 
Orsino,  Orsino!     How  will  it  all  end?  " 

She  rocked  herself  a  little,  to  and  fro,  her  fore- 
head against  his  coat,  and  her  hand  twisted  pain- 
fully upon  his,  but  there  were  no  tears  in  her 
voice,  for  she  had  shed  all  she  had  in  the  lonely 
nights  since  she  had  seen  him  last. 

"It  shall  end  in  our  way,"  said  Orsino,  in  the 
low  tone  that  means  most  with  a  man. 

"  You  and  I?  JMarried?  "  Again  she  shook  lier 
head.  "Oh,  no!  It  will  be  different —  the  end! 
I  am  not  cowardly,  but  this  is  kill  in  i^  me.  Mv 
mother  —  "  She  lowered  her  voice  still  more,  and 
hesitated.     "My  mother  is  going  ni'id,  they  say." 

Orsino  wondered  how  fate  could  do  more  than  it 
had  done  upon  the  Corleon 


e. 


UXT 


u 


Xothing  shall  take  you  fi*om  me,"  he  said,  his 

arms    going   round   her  and   folding  her  to  him. 

Xothing,  neither  death,  nor  madness,  nor  sorrow. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  tl 

happiness  rose  in  the  mist  of  tears. 


jj 


i(^  mirau'e  o 


f 


I 


lUit  it  is  not  possilde,"  she  said,  as  the  brief 
"  Vou    know    it    is    not    i»ossible. 


vision    faded, 


pl)oiito  did   not  do   it — I    know 


'r 


:iere    is   not 


that  to  separate  us.     But  you  could  not  takc^  tl 


le 


nv 


'f 


E 


t  .1 

■f  !'■ 


m 


iiir 


i  J: 


'.! 


01  o 


CORLEONE 


sister  of  such  broHiers  as  mine  have  boon  to  be 
your  wife.  How  couhl  you?  And  your  father, 
your  mother  —  all  that  great  family  of  yours  — 
tliey  would  not  have  me,  they  would  not  —  oh,  it 
is  impossible!  Do  not  talk  to  me  of  it,  love.  It 
will  nnike  it  harder  to  die." 

''To  die?     You?"     His  voice  rang  with  life. 

Suddenly,  and  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
loved  her,  he  pressed  her  head  gently  backwards, 
and  his  li])S  met  hers. 

She  started,  and  a  little  shiver  ran  to  her  small 
hands,  and  her  eyelids  dropped  till  they  closed, 
and  still  he  kissed  her,  long  nrid  passionately. 
And  the  colour  rose  slowly  in  her  cheeks  when  her 
pulse  beat  again,  for  it  had  stop[)ed  a  moment,  and 
then  she  hid  the-  scarlet  blush  against  his  coat,  and 
heard  the  lieavy,  mysterious  beating  of  ]iis  heart 
through  flesh  and  ])one  and  cloth, — tlie  strong, 
deep  sound  wliich  no  woman  forgets  wlio  has  heard 
it,  and  has  known  tiiat  it  was  for  her. 

"You  can  make  me  live,"  she  said  softly.  "But 
not  without  you,"  she  added,  drawing  a  deep  breath 
between. 

"  Together, "  he  answered.  "  Always  together,  to 
the  very  end." 

Tlien,  \>y  degrees,  as  the  great  wave  of  passion 
sul)si(le(h  they  talked  more  quietly,  he  witli  per- 
fect confidence  in  tlu^  future,  and  slie  more  ho])e- 
fully,  and  they  forgot  iMiss  Lizzie  and  her  letter. 


I!      M 


CORLEOXE 


2ia 


till  tliey  heard  her  move  the  handle  of  the  door. 
They  both  started. 

"Does  she  know?"  asked  Orsino,  quiekly. 

"I  never  told  her,"  Vittoria  had  time  to  answer, 
before  ^liss  81  lyback  conld  hear. 

''  I  have  written  such  a  nice  long  letter  to  Uncle 
Ben,"  said  the  youii^-  girl,  airily.  'M  liope  you 
have  not  bored  yourselves!  Not  that  1  am  very 
amusing  myself,"  she  added,  i)ausing  before  a  mir- 
ror, on  her  way  along  the  side  of  the  room.  '"  And 
I  am  a  perfect  fright  I  Just  look,  at  my  eyes. 
Oh,  well,  it  does  not  matter!  ])on  ()rsino  does 
not  mind,  and  I  am  sure  you  do  not,  Vittoria, 
do  you?" 

It  was  the  girl's  way  of  trying  to  jest  at  what 
Avas  a  real  pain,  if  it  was  not  a  very  great  sorrow. 
It  was  not  very  successful,  and  her  worn  little 
face  betrayed  her,  as  we^l  as  tlie  dark  liues  under 
lier  eyes.  She  had  believed  herself  very  much  in 
love  with  Tebaldo,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was 


11 


1  love  with  him  still,  so  far  as  she  had  vet  ai 


ly 


idea  of  what  it  meant  to  be  in  love.  lUit  she  had 
just  made  up  her  mind  that  she  could  never  marry 
him.  It  was  not  possible  to  marrv  into  such  a 
family,  where  everybody  was  always  killing  every- 
body else,  as  iMrs.  Slayback  ex[)ressed  it.  The 
friends  of  the  Saracinesca  had  found  a  great  (U'al 
to  say  about  the  previous  history  of  tlie  whole 
tribe  of  I'aLdiuca  d'Oriaiii,  includin<^  the  Corleone 


1 

wfi 

1 

1     .  ■.     ■ 

R 

;.      ; 

H 

f    . 

1 

1^1  ■! 

it 

III 

:LI' 

HI  1 

V 

Mlfl 

'•'  > 

?ff'n 

jj|! :: 

itc 

HI 

^  [.*  ' 

HI 

':U  ■ 

Itt 

H 

1  .*' ; 

H 

]  'i.  I 

1 

214 


COBLEONE 


of  old,  (luring  tlie  last  four  days,  and  much  of  it 
luid  got  into  the  Uoniau  papers,  which  all  took 
part  against  the  Sicilians.  Ivoniance  was  very 
Avell,  up  to  a  cei'tain  point.  Miss  Lizzie  thought, 
but  it  was  necessary  to  draw  tlie  line  somewhere, 
and  she  had  drawn  it  now.  Yet  her  heart  ached 
for  the  fierce-eyed  Sicilian,  all  the  same,  and  her 
small  face  was  weary  and  carevvorn. 


CHAPTER  XXXni 


Tehaldo's  nerves  were  beginning  to  give  way. 
It  was  of  no  nse  for  him  to  argue  with  himself, 
and  tell  himself  that  the  knife  would  not  be  found. 
He  knew  that  the  possibility  existed.  Xo  one  in 
Santa  Vittoria  would  look  for  it,  l)ut  there  was  the 
bishop,  who  would  sliortly  reconsecrate  the  church, 
and  there  was  the  judge,  who  had  told  8au  Giacinto 
that  he  might  go  up  to  visit  the  scene  of  the  mur- 
der. The  bishop  might  order  the  grating  to  be 
opened  in  order  to  see  the  Ijones  of  the  saint;  and 
the  judge,  accustomed  to  the  ways  of  criminals, 
might  insist  upon  a  search,  seeing  that  the  nuirder 
had  taken  place  within  arm's  length  of  the  altar. 

In  his  broken  dreams,  the  judge  and  the  l)ishop 

appeared  separately  and  together  and  turned  into 

eacli  other,   and   invariably  found   the   knife,   ;ind 

then    Tebaldo  was  suddenly   in  the  coui'tro(jm,  at 

the  bar,   where  Ippolito  had  stood,   instead  of  on 

the  witness  stand,  and  he  lieard  all  tlie  people  yell 

and  curse  his  name,  as  the  villagers  of  Santa  Vit- 

t(n'ia  had  cursed  the  young  priest.     As  in  the  old 

days  of  fortune  a,  num  was  drawn  up  by  his  hands  to 

the  high  vault  of  the  prison,  and  then  dropped  all  at 

215 


mi 

1 

P^ 

1   j 

'v.\\ 

1 

1  i 

•';    ' 

, 

i  i 

\.. 

j' 

4 


216 


CORLEONE 


oiico  with  a  hideous  wreiieJiiiig  caiid  tearing  of  the 
joints  till  his  feet  were  but  a  foot  from  the  floor, 
so  Tebahlo's  sudden  waking  was  but  a  sudden 
ehange  of  agony  renewed  eaeh  time  and  each  time 
more  unendurable,  till  the  fear  of  dreaming  Avas 
outdone  by  the  dread  of  returning  to  conscious- 
ness. 

AVhen  he  was  awake  he  imagined  impossible 
schemes  for  getting  possession  of  the  knife  unob- 
served. It  might  have  seemed  simple  enough  to 
go  u})  to  Santa  Vittoria,  call  the  sacristo.n,  and 
have  tlie  church  opened  for  him.  Then  he  could 
ha.ve  invented  an  excuse  for  sending  the  fat  man 
away  while  he  quietly  reached  down  through  the 
grating  and  felt  for  the  knife.  In  his  ordinary 
state  of  mind  and  health  he  would  have  done  that, 
and  there  were  ninety -nine  chances  in  a  hundred 
that  he  would  have  succeeded. 

r>ut  it  looked  dii'ferently  to  him  now.  In  the  first 
place,  a  sheer  physical  horror  of  going  back  to  the 
villaue  at  all  had  taken  the  })lace  of  the  cynical 
indiiference  Avhich  had  at  first  left  his  cunning  and 
his  cooluess  free  to  act.  J^^vei-yone  who  has  dealt 
with  humanity  under  the  iniiuence  of  pain  or 
fear  knows  that  the  effect  of  either  is  cumulative, 
and  that  in  each  individual  there  seems  to  be  a 
limit  beyond  whicli  the  niM'ves  will  resist  no  more, 
and  the  will  |)ower  altogether  ceases.  A  man  may 
bear  a  certain  grievous  pain  on  the  first  day  without 


I 


'I 


\ 


CO  II  LEONE 


217 


a  sij^ii;  on  the  second  diiy  he  will  grind  hin  teetli; 
on  tlie  third  he  will  wince;  later  he  \vill  groan, 
writhe,  and  at  last  break  down,  like  a  mere  child, 
under  one-tenth  of  the  suffering  he  bore  manfully 
and  silently  at  first.  And  it  is  the  same  with  any 
given  fear.  In  a  smaller  degree  it  is  so  also  in 
the  matter  of  losing  one's  temper  under  constantly 
renewed  irritation  of  the  same  kind.  Even  in 
another  direction,  but  in  one  which  eij^ually  con- 
cerns the  nerves,  this  thing  is  true.  Often,  in  a 
farce  on  the  stage,  an  indifferent  action  passes 
unnoticed;  it  recurs  and  excites  attention;  again 
it  comes,  and  the  audience  smile;  once  more  and 
they  laugh,  and  cannot  control  their  laughter  each 
time  the  action  is  repeated,  until  a  certain  capacity 
for  being  moved  to  mirth  again  and  again  in  one 
direction,  which  varies  in  each  individual,  is 
momentarily  paralyzed.  l*eople  afterwards  realize 
with  surprise,  and  sometimes  with  a  litth^  slianie, 
the  emptiness  of  the  absurdities  at  wliich  they 
have  hiughed  so  heartily;  as  many  a  man  has 
despised  himself  for  having  been  angry  at  a  trifle, 
and  w^ondered  Jit  his  own  weakness  in  havhig 
winced  under  an  insigniticant  pain.  But  the  trifle 
is  only  tlie  drop  that  overHUs  the  cup  at  last. 

Ho  Tebaldo  had  almost  reached  the  limit  of 
endurance,  and  the  mere  idea  of  going  back  to  the 
vilhige  and  the  church  was  intolerable  to  him.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  even  if  he  could  make  up  his 


)  I 


Iltlti 


Iff     '> 


iilf>l  !i 


ft 

.  !  M    '• 

H 

" 

|1: 

.Ml    ,;     1 

...                   |, 
■'         i 

'i  1 

218 


COllLEOyE 


iiiiiid  to  the  attempt,  lie  slioiild  be  sure  to  fail. 
The  sacristan  would  come  back  unexpectedly  and 
find  him  with  his  hand  through  the  grating,  grop- 
ing after  tin;  knile;  or  the  lame  boy,  who  always 
hung  about  the  gate,  would  look  in  and  see  him. 
Yet  he  could  not  have  locked  himself  into  the 
cluircli,  for  that  also  would  have  excited  suspicion. 

The  idea  that  he  might  get  someone  else  to 
recover  the  weapon  for  him  took  hold  of  him  by 
degrees.  At  first  it  ap[)eared  to  be  madness  to 
trust  anvone  with  his  secret,  and  his  keen  sense 
rejected  the  i)lan  with  scorn.  But  it  suggested 
itself  again  and  again  with  increasing  persistence, 
because  the  nuu'e  thought  that  he  might  get  the 
thiug  back  without  going  to  Santa  Vittoria  in 
person  was  an  inexpressible  relief,  and  he  began 
to  try  and  think  of  some  person  whom  he  could 
trust  to  be  prom])t  and  secret. 

At  first  he  thought  of  askiug  someone  in  Santa 
A'itt(U'ia.  The  fat  sacristan,  whom  he  had  known 
for  years,  could  do  it  easily.  Ihit  Tebaldo  recog- 
nized at  once  that  he  had  no  hold  upon  the  num, 
who  might  betray  him  at  any  moment.  jMoney 
would  temj)t  the  fellow,  but  no  sum  could  silence 
him  aft(U'wai'ds,  if  he  should  (hunand  more,  as  was 
very  probable.  Jiesides,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
write  to  him,  and  tlu^  man  might  lose  the  letter, 
even  if  he  were  able  to  read  it  well  enough  to 
understand,  which  was  doubtful.     There  was  J)on 


COllLEONE 


210 


Atanasio,  tlie  apothecary.  He  ^vould  do  much  out 
of  liatred  for  the  Saraciiiesca,  as  liis  daughter  had 
done  already.  lUit  he  was  a  eautious  ohl  uiau, 
depend(Mit,  in  a  hirge  measure,  upon  tlie  govern- 
ment, and  wouhl  not  ))(3  inclined  to  endanger  his 
position  to  oblige  Tebaldo.  It  would  not  do  to 
risk  a  refusal. 

Then  it  occurred  to  the  wretched  man  that 
women  had  more  than  once  saved  men  wlio  luvt^d 
them  from  desperate  danger,  and  that,  after  all, 
he  might  do  worse  than  to  tell  Aliandra  the  truth. 
If  she  were  willing,  she  could  go  up  to  Santa 
Vittoria  on  a  pretext  and  visit  the  little  church, 
and  get  rid  of  the  sacristan.  Then,  if  site  wore 
a  wide  cloak,  she  could  kneel  down  on  pretence 
of  looking  through  the  grating,  and  her  slim 
woman's  arm  could  run  through  it  in  a  mom  .mt, 
and  her  hand  could  not  fail  to  iind  the  knife.  He 
could  remember,  now,  exactly  at  how  many  inches 
from  the  left  he  had  dro[)ped  it  through.  The 
details  came  back  to  him  with  vivid  clearness, 
though  at  lirst  he  had  almost  quite  forgotten 
them. 

He  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Aliandra 
for  assistance,  and  the  half  decision  was  a  su(hh'n 
and  immense  relief.  He  could  eat  and  drink  and 
he  felt  that  he  should  sleep.  Immediately  his 
mind  outran  this  first  plan,  and  lie  saw  himself  in 
Kome  again,  in  three  or  four  d;iys  at   the   most. 


<»i 


!i 


220 


COULEOyE 


B 


engaged  to  marry  tlic  great  heiress,  resuming  his 
reguhir  life  of  wise  eoiirtship,  and  discussing  with 
liis  future  wil'e  tlie  details  of  a  brilliant  existence. 
He  drove  away  the  subconsciousness  that  the 
thing  was  not  yet  d(jne  and  revelled  in  visions  in 
which  there  was  nu  fear. 

lUit  that  did  not  last  long,  for  he  could  not 
sleep,  after  all;  and  tlie  knowledge  that  he  must 
act  (quickly  grew  constantly  nu)re  distur))ing,  till 
he  rose  in  tlie  night  and  sat  b}'  the;  optui  window, 
working  out  his  plan.  He  must  go  to  Jlandazzo 
again  and  see  Aliandra;  then  he  must  wait  at  the 
inn,  wliile  she  went  up  to  Santa  Vittoria.  T-he 
hours  of  waiting  would  be  hard  to  bear,  but  at 
the  end  of  them  tluu'ci  would  be  freedom.  She 
would  come  l)ack,  and  he  should  see  her  pass.  He 
should  go  to  her  father's  house.  She  would  meet 
him  at  the  door  and  draw  him  into  the  familiar 
sitting-room,  and  a  moment  later  the  weapon 
would  be  in  his  hand.  After  all,  if  he  once  had 
it,  she  could  have  no  proof  against  him,  beyt  ^'1 
her  mere  assertion,  if  she  should  ever  turn  against 
him.  For  the  sak(^  of  his  love  for  her,  she  would 
never  do  that,  he  thouglit. 

He  telegraphed  to  Tato  at  dawn  to  meet  him  at 
the  I'iedimonte  station.  It  was  a  Thursday,  and 
he  felt  sure  that  the  judge  would  not  be  at  leisure 
to  go  up  to  Santa  A^ittoria  l)efore  Sunday.  It  was 
most  probable,  too,  that  the  bishop  would  choose 


COIiLEONE 


221 


I 


the  Sunday  to  reooiisec.nite  tlic  church,  and  it 
occurr(>d  to  TebahU)  tliat  it  wouhl  be  strange  if  tlio 
two  sliouhl  meet  as  they  were  always  meeting  in 
his  dreams.  lUit  tliere  was  plenty  of  time  Ijefore 
that,  and  all  would  conu^  right.  Aliandra  would 
not  refuse  to  do  liim  this  service. 

Tato  met  him  at  l*iedimonte  in  person,  instead 
of  sending  down  his  man,  and  in  obedience  to 
Tebaldo's  telegram  he  had  brought  a  light  convey- 
ance in  which  the  two  sat  side  l)y  side,  with 
Tebaldo's  little  valise  at  their  feet,  and  his  rifle 
between  them.  They  were  old  acrpiaintances,  for 
Tato  had  driven  tlie  Corleone  family  for  years 
himself,  and  by  deputy,  as  it  were,  while  he  had 
been  serving  his  time  in  I'onza.  He  had  a  pro- 
found respect  for  Tebaldo,  for  he  knew  how  the 
latter  with  his  brothers  had  long  ago  led  the  sol- 
diers astray  when  pursuing  the  brigands  in  tlie 
neighbonihood  of  Camaldoli.  There  was  ]>robably 
no  man  in  that  part  of  the  country  who  knew  as 
much  about  people  of  all  sorts  and  conditions,  and 
about  their  movements,  as  tlie  smart-looking  owner 
of  the  stable  at  l*iedimonte,  nor  anyone  who  could 
keep  his  own  council  better.  He  was  a  thorough 
type  of  the  'maffeuso,'  at  all  points,  as  San  Giacinto 
had  at  first  observed  to  Orsino.  San  Giacinto  had 
always  believed  that  the  man  had  known  of  Ferdi- 
nando's  intended  attack,  and  of  the  pitfall  in  tlie 
avenue. 


990 


C  01^  LEONE 


Tato  told  T«^l)al(l()  tliat  lio  had  driven  San 
Giaciiit(j  al  MUi  ti]»  to  (/anialdoli  on  tlie  previous 
evening,  returning  during  tln^  night. 

''  What  eouragt'I  "  lie  exchiinied,  with  some  gen- 
uine admiration,  as  he  spoke  of  the  ])ig  man. 
"After  all  that  has  ha|)i)ened!  He  is  a  man  of 
ii'on,  full  of  courage  and  Mood." 

"'J'here  was  no  ])artieular  danger  in  driving  up 
to  Camaldoli."  ()l)served  Tel)aldo,  indifferently. 

Tato  IooIv'mI  at  him  curiously  for  a  moment, 
to  see  whether  he  were  in  earnest. 

"  Then  you  do  not  know?  "  he  en(|uired.  "They 
are  in  the  woods  above  ^Nliiniace." 

'  They  '  means  the  outlaws,  or  the  carabineers, 
as  the  sense  re(|uires. 

1'i'baldo  looked  (piickly  at  Tato  in  his  turn. 

"  Mow  many?  "  \\v.  asked. 

"A  dozen  or  lif'teen,"  said  Tato.  "There  is 
Mauro,  .and  Leoncino,  and  tiie  one  they  call 
Schiantaceci  —  he  was  a.  uentleman  of  Palermo, 
but  no  one  knows  his  real  name,  and  the  ]\[oscio 
—  eh,  there  are  many!  Who  knows  all  their 
names  ?     Ihit  INFaui'o  is  with  them." 

"Leoncino  is  a.  good  nuin,"  observed  Tebaldo, 
(p.iit(»  naturally. 

"Souls  of  his  dead!  You  have  spoken  the 
trutli.  It  was  he  that  wore  the  carabineer's  uni- 
form when  they  look  the  Duca.  di  l^'ornasco's  baililf. 
lie  has   I  lace  like  a  stone.      \'et  Mauro  himsidt  is 


COULlCoyE 


223 


tlie  best  of  tlie.u,  tliou^r],  l,e  is  often  ill  witli  his 
liver.  \ou  know  the  life  they  l.-ad.  The  food 
IS  sometimes  o,mh1,  but  sometimes  it  is  l)a,lly 
cooked,  and  they  oat  in  a  hnny,  and  then  that 
poor  Mauro's  liver  troubles  him." 

'^Why  have  they  eome  over  from   Xoto?     Do 
you  know?" 

'^  For    a    ehange    of    air,  I    suppose,"    answered 

rato,    imperturbal)ly.      ''JJut    they    say    that    the 

Fornaseo   is  eoming  from  Xaples.     JVu-haps   they 

would    like    to    try    for    tlie    8aracinesca.      Who 

knows  what  they  want?" 

''Do  the   carabineers   know  that  they  are  near 
Maniace?" 

''How  should  they  know?  Afauro  and  the 
Leom.ino  rode  into  Santa  A'ittoria  vestenhiy  aiter- 
noon  to  see -good  health  to  you-t,)  s(r  wlicv 
-Don  Frances(.o  died.  Th.-y  aske.l  the  little  lieu- 
tenant of  infantry  to  t^dl  them  the  way  to  the 
cluirch,  as  though  they  were  strangers.  I>o  you 
tliink  he  has  th  ir  photographs  in  his  i,oeket?  "^IFe 
took  them  for  two  farmers  going  from  Catania  to 
Itandazzo." 

"They  might  have  caught  San  (;iaeinto  last 
night  when  you  drov(>  him  up,"  said  Tebaldo. 

''"•  every, .lie  knew  where  to  look  for  uioney, 
there  wonhl  be  no  poor  n„.,i,*'  ivtunie.l  Tato.' 
"They  did  not  know  about  the  Saraein.^sea,  and  the 
carabineers  do   not   know  about  them.     Thus  the 


wBnn^^ 

7f 
■  ill. 

p|h 

:  11: 

bI  1 ' 

1  ? 

\ 

iM 

1 ! 

h  ■  ■" 

i 

' 

11 


■"«'  '    ! 


224 


con LEONE 


world  goes.  Each  man  turns  liis  back  on  liis  fort- 
une and  cliases  Hies.  Should  you  not  like  to  see 
the  jMoscio,  Don  Tebaldo  ?  Y^ou  know  that  it 
was  he  who  hel[)ed  that  angel  of  paradise,  Don 
Ferdinando.  Jle  goes  everywhere,  for  he  is  not 
known." 

"  Yes.  I  should  like  to  see  him.  lUit  I  do  not 
care  to  go  up  to  the  Maniace  woods,  for  I  am 
known,  though  he  is  not.  How  can  I  see  him?  I 
should  like  to  ask  him  about  my  brother." 

"Where  shall  you  stay  to-night?"  en^j^uired 
Tato. 

''At  the  inn  at  E-andazzo.  I  am  not  going  to 
Santa  Yittoria.     I  have  business  with  Basili." 

"I  will  arrange  it,"  answered  Tato.  "Leave  it 
to  me." 

Tebaldo  assented  and  remained  silent  for  some 
time.  As  they  drove  ou,  nearer  and  nearer  to 
Kandazzo,  the  folly  of  his  present  plan  became 
clear  to  him,  and  in  the  ])lace  of  Aliandra,  as  an 
agent  for  getting  back  the  knife,  the  ])0ssibility  of 
employing  tlie  young  outlaw  known  as  the  IVIoscio 
presented  itself,  and  the  ])ossibility  of  confiding 
freely  in  a  man  whose  position  was  ten  times  more 
desperate  than  his  own,  and  whose  evidence  could 
never  be  of  any  value  in  tlie  eyes  of  the  law. 
JSlauro  liimself  was  undei  obligations  to  Tebaldo, 
who  could  li;iv(^  betrayed  him  to  the  a,uth()ritirs 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  less  than  a  year  earlier. 


ome 
to 

mine 

an 

of 

iscio 

iing 

liore 

)Ul(l 

law. 

ulo, 
Itics 

iiT. 


CORLEONE 


225 


: 


Again  and  again  l)otli  Mauro  and  tlie  Moseio,  as 
well  as  three  or  four  otUei's  of  the  band,  had  l)een 
at  Camaldoli,  and  the  Corleone  had  given  them 
food  and  drink  and  ammunition  at  a  time  when  a 
great  effort  had  been  made  to  cateh  them. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  being  able  to  send  a  mes- 
sage to  tlie  jMoseio?  "  asked  Tebaldo. 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  said  Tato,  again.  "I  have  a 
little  bundle  for  him  in  the  biiek  of  the  waggon. 
How  do  I  know  what  is  in  it?  It  feels  lik(;  new 
elothes  from  the  tailor  in  Messina.  The  Moseio 
is  fond  of  good  clothes.  He  writes  to  his  tailor, 
who  sends  the  things  when  he  ean,  by  a  sure  hand. 
You  know  how  tliey  live,  as  w«dl  as  1  do.  They 
always  wear  new  clothes,  and  give  their  old  things 
to  the  peasants,  bi'cause  they  can  only  carry  little 
with  them.  And  then,  they  are  Avell  l)i'ought  up 
and  are  accustomed  to  l)e  (dean,  iiut  I  speak  as 
tl'ougb  you  were  a  Roman.  Vou  know  liow  tliey 
live.  The  AEoscio  will  havt;  his  bundle  tiiis  al't(;r- 
d   this   eveninij:  he    will   come   down  and 


noon,   an 


le  mil, 


I 


have  siipptM"  with  you  at  Ivandazzo,  at  tl 

know  tills,  therefore  1  asked  if  you  wished  to  see 

him,  and  not  another." 

before  Ivandazzo  was  in  sight,  Tebaldo  had 
(piite  miule  up  his  mind  to  conlide  in  the;  outlaw, 
and  he  could  hardly  ha,V(^  believed  that  he  had  left 
Messina  that  morning  with  the  linn  intention  of 
imploring  Aliandra  to  \w\\)  him.  iUit  he  looked 
VOL.  II.  —  gi 


■ 

i 

f 

¥•- 

1 

ii' 

Wi'' 

1 

! 

1 

¥ 

^H 

i 

1 

i 

1 

II- 

1 ' ' 

1 

i 

S:'! 


,Vf 


!  i; 


226 


COBLEONE 


forward  to  seeing  lier  and  to  spending  most  of  the 
afternoon  with  lier. 

He  was  disappointed.  Everything  happened 
exactly  as  at  liis  hist  visit.  J)asili's  man  a])peared 
at  the  door  of  the  house,  instead  of  from  the  stable, 
and  gave  })r('cis(dy  the  same  message.  Aliandra 
had  taken  (Jcsuahla  to  the  country  to  visit  some 
friends,  and  had  not  come  back.  No  one  knew 
Avhen  she  meant  to  come. 

"Tell  me  something  eLse,"  said  Tebahio,  offer- 
ing the  man  money,  for  he  knew  that  the  story 
couhl  not  be  true. 

The  man  threw  back  his  head  in  refusah 

"You  might  give  me  also  Piu'u,"  lie  answered. 
"This  is  the  truth,  and  this  1  have  told  you." 

"I  should  like  to  see  Signor  Jiasili,"  said  Te- 
])aldo,  thinking  that  he  might  get  into  the  house. 

"The  notary  sl('(^])s,"  answered  the  man,  stolidly, 
and  h(^  began  to  shut  the  door. 

To  force  au  (uitra,nee  seenu'd  out  of  the  question, 
ami  Tcbaldo  went  away  angr^T-  and  disappointed. 
He  could  S(H^  that  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  try 
again,  for  the  same  answer  would  be  given  to  his 
en([uiries.  It  was  enraging  to  know  that  the 
woman  he  lovcnl  was  within  a  f(^w  yards  of  him, 
and  able  to  k(H»p  him  away  from  her.  JUit  his 
anger  was  a  relit^f  from  the  ])erpetual  anxiety 
about  the  knife,  which  was  wearing  out  his  nerves, 
day  and  night. 


COnLEONE 


227 


In  tlfc  iiftornoon  lie  shut  liimself  up  in  tlic  room 
he  hiul  taken  and  tried  to  write  to  Aliandra,  but  lie 
was  in  no  condition  for  composing  lov(^-letters.  He 
could  find  notliing  ])ut  re[)roac]ies  for  ]ier  unkind- 
ness  in  refusing  to  admit  liini;  and  as  soon  as  lie 
had  expressed  them,  he  ftdt  that  his  own  words 
exhibited  him  in  an  absurdly  undignified  ])nsition. 
Besides,  he  was  really  waiting  in  the  unconscious 
hope  of  explaining  her  conduct  to  himstdf,  when  he 
knew  that  it  was  as  yet  inexplicable.  Meanwhile 
lie  toie  up  the  pages  he  had  covered,  aiul  threw  the 
whole  blame  upon  Basili,  unwilling  to  admit  that 
the  woman  he  loved  could  turn  against  him. 

In  the  hot  hours  of  the  afternoon  he  shut  the 
windows  and  dozed  restlessly  on  a  hard  sofa.,  and 
his  evil  dreams  came  u])on  him  onc(^  nH)re  and 
tormented  him,  waking  him  again  and  again  just 
when  the  sweetness  of  rest  was  within  reach.  At 
hist,  his  body  Ijeing  very  weary,  the  dreams  could 
no  longer  wake  'lim,  and  tortured  him  at  their  will 
while  he  lay  in  a  heavy  sleep. 

It  was  already  dark  when  he  awoke  with  a  start. 
The  door  liad  oiiened,  and  a  vouth  was  standiiiLr 
besid(5  him  holding  a  cjindle  in  a  ])rass  candlestick, 
shading  the  Hauie  a  little  with  the  other  hand  and 
looking  down  into  his  face. 

*V[  regret  that  I  disturb  you,'*  said  the  young 
man,  in  a  gentle,  girlish  voice.  "I  hope  you  have 
sle])t  well? 


'  I 


I 


•)  7J 


,\'. 


1 

K 

I 

i  Un'^'' 

1 

i 

1 

1 

1 

1 

■ 

4;;.  1 

m 

I 

w 

y 

,;i   1.  j 

;    .  .  ^  ■  1 

1  !  r 

f  ■' ' 

■J 

228 


COBLEOX?: 


Tebaldo  was  already  sitting  up  on  the  sofa,  and 
had  recognized  the  IMoseio.  Tlie  outhiw  coukl  not 
hav^e  been  more  tlian  twenty-two  years  ohl,  and 
looked  a  mere  boy.  He  was  of  medium  height, 
delieatel}'  made,  very  carefully  shaved,  and  dressed 
with  a  sort  of  Mveless  good  taste,  wearing  a  black 
velvet  jacket,  immaculate  linen,  riding-trousers 
with  gaiters,  patent  leather  shoes,  and  silver-plated 
spurs.  He  was  hatless,  and  liis  sliort,  soft  brown 
hair  curled  all  over  liis  head,  close  and  hue,  like 
curly  Astrachan  fur.  TJiere  was  a  tender,  youth- 
ful freslmess  in  his  skin,  anil  he  had  beautiful 
teeth.  He  had  studied  for  the  bar  and  had  been 
driven  to  outlawry  V)ecause,  failing  to  pass  his 
final  examination,  he  liad  shot  his  teacher  through 
tlie  head  at  the  first  opportunity.  But  he  had 
killed  a  nund)er  of  men  since  then  and  had  almost 
forij^otten  the  incident. 

Tebahlo  rose  to  liis  feet  and  greeted  him. 

"  A  friend  told  mc  you  were  here  and  wished  to 
see  me,"  said  the  iNToscio.  ''T  am  af  your  service, 
tliougli  to  tell  the  truth  I  am  somewhat  ashamed 
to  meet  you,  after  that  unfortunate  alfair  at 
Camaldoli." 

"  Why?  "  ask(Ml  Tebahlo.     "  I  do  not  see  —  " 

"  It  was  I  that  finnl  over  the  carriage  to  draw 
away  the  escort,"  replied  the  other.  ^' Your  poor 
brother  was  too  enthusiastic.  I.  was  afraid  that 
something  would  happen  to  Jiim,  for  the  plan  did 


! 


COliLKONE 


229 


not  seem  to  be  very  well  tlionglit  out.  In  a  man- 
ner I  feel  responsible  for  liis  misfortune,  foi-  I 
should  not  have  consented  to  what  he  })ro[)osed. 
I  hope,  however,  that  ther(^  need  be  no  bad  blood 
between  you  and  me  on  that  account. " 

"  Ferdinando  was  always  foolish,"  answered 
Tebaldo.     "It  was  certainly  not  your  fault." 

"And  now  you  have  had  another  misfortvme  in 
the  family,"  said  tlie  youtli,  sadly.  "1  take  the 
Urst  opportunity  of  offering  you  my  most  sincere 
ct)ndolence." 

Tebaldo  knew  that  witli  such  a  man  it  was 
better  to  be  frank,  or  to  say  nothing,  lie  bowed 
gravely,  and  proposed  thtit  they  should  have  sup- 
per. Tlie  JMoscio  answered  with  erpial  gravity, 
and  made  a  little  bow  on  his  side,  by  way  of 
acknowledgment. 

"I  Avas  about  to  ask  you  to  be  my  guest,"  he 
said.  "I  supped  with  you  at  Camaldoli  the  last 
time  we  met.  AVe  miglit  liave  supjKu-  liere  in  your 
room, "  he  suggested.  "  1  Uit  I  fear  to  inconvenience 
you  —  " 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Tebaldo.  "I  prefer  it 
also.      AVe  shall  be  more  at  liberty  to  talk." 

"For  that  nuitter,"  said  the  brigand,  "the  con- 
versation in  the  public  room  is  often  amusing 
and  soiaetimes  instructive.  The  lieutenant  of 
caral)ineers  sat  at  tlie  t.abh?  next  to  me  the  last 
time    I    spent   the   evening   here.     He    was    very 


ii 


If  S;   ■ 


m 


':  I 


230 


CORLEONE 


fricnd^v  and  asked  my  opinion  about  catching  tlie 
IMoscio." 

''If  you  prefer  to  have  supper  downstairs,  let  us 
go  down,"  said  Tel)ahh3,  hiughing  a  littU\  "I^ut 
the  fact  is  that  I  wished  to  consult  you  on  a  little 
matter  of  my  own/"' 

"  In  tliat  case,  it  is  different.  But  it  was  I  that 
proposed  your  room." 

AV'hile  the  waiter  came  and  went,  preparing  tlie 
table,  the  two  men  talked  a  little,  continuing  to 
exchange  small  civilities.  The  waiter  knew  them 
both  perfectly  well,  and  tliey  knew  him.  In 
twenty  minutes  they  sat  down  opposite  each  other, 
as  proper  and  (piiet  a  j)air  to  see  as  one  could  have 
found  in  that  part  of  the  country.  The  Moscio 
had  good  manners,  of  a  slightly  provincial  sort, 
and  a  little  too  elaborate.  He  watched  Tebaldo 
(piietly,  with  a  view  to  proiiting  by  tlie  example 
of  a  gtuith'man  who  had  lately  l)een  nuich  in  tlie 
ca})ital.  lb;  ate  sparingly,  moreover,  and  mixed 
his  black  wine  with  a  large  proportion  of  water. 

Tebahhj  watched  the  girlish  face,  the  bright,  (piiet 
eyes,  and.  the  child-like  complexion  of  the  man 
who  had  done  half  a  dozen  nuii'ders,  and  envied 
liim  liis  evident  peace  of  mind.  He  knew,  ]iow- 
ever,  that  his  gu(^st  Avould  not  stay  long,  and  tliat 
it  was  necessary  to  ttdl  him  the;  story.  The  Mos- 
cio gave  him  an  op})ortunity  of  doing  so,  almost  as 
soon  as  the  waiter  had  gone  away. 


COnLEONE 


231 


''It  was  with  the  deepest  regret  that  T  lieard  of 
Don  Fraiiceseu's  accident,"  he  said,  h)okiiig  up  at 
Tebahh). 

"For  that  matter,"  answered  Tebahk),  hohllv, 
"I  kilk'd  liiiu  myself." 

"I  always  supposed  so,"  replied  the  outlaw, 
quite  unmoved.  "Are  you  going  to  join  us,  if 
you  are  found  out?  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to 
have  you  among  us,  I  need  not  assure  you.  Ihit, 
of  course,  so  long  as  there  is  no  susi)icion,  you  will 
remain  in  the  world.  I  should,  in  your  place. 
Poor  Ferdinando,  whom  we  all  loved  as  a  l)rother, 
liked  the  life  for  its  own  sake.  Poor  man  I  If  he 
had  ever  nuxde  an  enemy,  he  would  have  killed 
him,  but  having  none,  his  hands  Avere  clean  as  a 
child's.  And  in  his  very  first  affair,  he  was  shot 
like  a  quail  by  a  Koman.  lleaven  is  very  unjust, 
sometimes.  Yes,  we  all  thought  that  you  nuist 
have  sent  Francesco  to  paradise  yourself  and  i)ut 
the  blame  on  the  priest.  It  was  well  done.  The 
priest  will  go  to  the  galleys  for  it,  I  daresay." 

The  youth's  manner  was  as  (piiet  as  though  he 
were  speaking  of  the  most  ordinary  occurrences. 
The  knowledge  of  what  he  really  was,  and  of  what 
desperate  deeds  of  daring  he  had  done,  somehow 
acted  soothingly  upon  Tebaldo's  nerves,  for  he 
needed  just  such  an  ally. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  ''It  was  done  well  enough. 
But  I  made  a  little  mistake  which  1  hope  you  will 


5,'      ■ ' '  ■ 


II 


232 


COBLEONE 


help  me  to  reetif}'  for  the  sake  of  any  service  I 
may  have  done  you  all  before  I  sohl  Camahloli." 

''Willingly."  answered  the  IVEoscio,  with  cour- 
teous alacrity.  ''But  if  it  is  for  to-night,  I  hope 
3^ou  can  h^nd  nie  half  a  dozen  AVinchester  car- 
tridge's, for  I  am  a  little  short." 

Tebaldo  explained  briefly  what  he  wanted.  Tlie 
Moscio   smiled  quietly. 

"Nothing  could  be  easier,"  he  said,  when 
Tebaldo  had  finished.  "I  will  ride  into  the  vil- 
lage to-morrow  morning  and  get  your  knife.  But, 
for  another  time,  I  should  advise  you  to  keep  your 
weapon  about  you  when  you  have  used  it.  If  you 
are  caught,  it  is  because  you  are  suspected  already 
on  some  good  ground,  and  the  weapon  makes  little 
difference.  But  if  you  get  away  quietly,  you 
leave  wo  evidence  behind  3'ou." 

"That  is  true,"  answered  Tebaldo,  thoughtfully. 
"But  there  is  no  name  on  the  knife." 

"Nevertheless,  someone  might  recognize  it  as 
yours,  if  anj'one  had  ever  seen  it." 

"No  one  ever  saw  it,  excepting  my  brothers 
and,  pei'ha})s,  my  sister,  Avhen  it  lay  on  my 
table.  But  your  advice  is  good.  I  might  have 
saved  myself  much  disquiet  if  I  had  brought  it 


.  " 


away 

The  jMoscio  made  Tebaldo  explain  very  exactly 
to  him  where  tlie  knife  hiy.  He  knew  the  village 
and  the  [losition  of  the  little  church  well  enough. 


I 


CO  II  LEONE 


233 


I'  rr] 


They  talked  over  the  details  of  the  matter  for  a 
wliile,  speaking  in  low  tones. 

"  T  suppose  yc.u  do  not  want  the  tiling  when  I 
iiave  reeovered  it,"  observed  the  outlaw,  with  a 
smile. 

''T   should   like  to  see  it,"  answered  Tebaldo. 

Tlien  I  sliould  throw  it  away,  I  sui)pose." 

''  Again?  "  The  Moscio  smiled  in  a  rather  pity- 
ing Avay.  "Then  you  might  wish  to  get  it  back  a 
second  time.  It  has  no  name  on  it,  you  say.  If 
it  is  a  good  knife,  I  shall  put  it  into  my  own 
pocket,  with  your  permission,  as  a  remembrance 
of  tliis  very  pleasant  meeting." 

''I  should  like  to  see  it  once,"  repeated  Tebaldo. 

"You  do  not  trust  me?  After  trusting  me  with 
the  story?     That  is  not  right." 

"I  have  proved  that  I  trust  you,"  replied 
Tebaldo.  "But  the  thing  makes  me  dream;  I 
shall  not  get  a  good  night's  rest  till  I  have  seen 
it.     Then  keep  it,  l)y  all  means." 

"T  see!"  Tlie  brigand  laughed  a  little  in  gen- 
nine  amusement.  "I  understand!  Forgive  me 
for  tliinking  that  T  was  not  trusted.  You  have 
nerves  — you  ^o  not  sleep.  We  have  a  friend 
with  us  who  is  troubled  in  the  same  way.  Do 
you  remember  the  man  we  call  Sclr'antaceci?  He 
killed  his  sweetheart  for  jealousy,  and  began  in 
tlijit  way.  That  was  five  years  ago,  in  Palermo. 
If  you  will  believe  it,  he  dreams  of  her  still,  and 


234 


con LEONE 


■  it 


often  Piinuot  sleep  for  thinking  of  her.  Some 
men  are  so  strangely  organized!  Xow  there  is  our 
captain  ^Eaiiro  himself.  Whenever  lie  has  killed 
anybody,  he  gets  a  gold  twenty-franc  piece  and 
pnts  it  into  a  little  leathern  pnrse  he  carries  for 
that  purpose." 

^' Why?"  asked  Tebaldo,  with  some  curiosity. 

''  For  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  he  knows 
at  any  time  how  many  he  has  killed.  And  sec- 
ondly, he  says  they  are  intended  to  pay  for  masses 
for  his  soul  when  he  is  killed  himself.  One  tells 
him  that  someone  will  get  the  gold,  if  he  is  killed. 
He  answers  that  Heaven  will  respect  his  intention 
of  having  the  masses  said,  even  if  it  is  not  carried 
out  when  he  is  dead.  That  man  has  a  genius  for 
theology.  T)ut  T  must  be  going,  Don  Tebaldo,  for 
I  do  not  wish  to  tire  my  horse  too  much,  and  1 
have  far  to  ride." 

''I  will  not  keep  you.  But  how  shall  T  see  the 
knife?     You  cannot  come  down  again  to-morrow." 

'•'We  should  be  glad  to  see  you  in  the  forest,  if 
you  can  find  us.  ]\[auro  would  be  delighted.  I 
have  no  doubt  you  will  be  aijle  to  find  your  way, 
for  you  know  the  woods  as  well  as  we  do.  I  can- 
not tell  you  where  we  are,  for  we  have  a  rule 
against  that,  but  T  daresay  you  can  guess." 

"I  will  couK^,"  answered  Tebaldo. 

"  If  you  come  alone,  you  will  be  safe,"  s;ii(l  the 
]\[oscio.       "Safer    than    you    arc    here,     perhaps. 


I 


CORLEONE 


2^5 


the 
■ow." 
st,  if 
I 
way, 

can- 

I'Lllo 


I 


wliil«'  y()Ui'  kiiifo  is  lyiii^-  imdcr  t\w  alt;ir  of  Santa 
Yittoria.  IJut  it  will  not  be  there  any  lun'-'er, 
to-morrow  nii^'lit  '' 

The  Moscio  ])rotest('(l  eonrteoiisly,  when  Tchahlo 
thanked  him,  and  he  took  leave  of  his  entertainer. 
His  (U)()lness  was  perfeetly  unnffeett'd,  and  was  the 
more  remarkable  as  lie  Avas  certaiidy  a  rather 
striking  young  man  on  aeeount  of  his  good  looks, 
his  extrenndy  youthful  apjx'arane*',  liis  perfectly 
new  (dothes,  and  a  certain  gentleman-like  ease  in 
all  he  di(L  lie  was  known  by  sight  to  Inindreds 
of  peoph^  in  various  parts  of  the  island,  but  he  did 
not  beliin^e  that  any  of  them  would  betniy  him, 
and  he  passed  the  open  door  of  the  guest-room, 
where  the  lieutenant  of  carabineers  was  playing 
dominos  with  the  de})uty  [)refect,  with  pfU'b'ct 
indiffer(Uice,  though  there  was  a  large  reward  on 
his  head,  and  he  was  W(dl  known  to  the  landloi^l 
and  the  waiter.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  utterly 
fearless,  and  wonld  never  hav(*  allowed  himstdf  to 
be  taken  alive.  JJut,  on  tli(dr  side,  if  th(>v  were  ever 
tenii)ted  by  the  reward,  they  knew  how  short  and 
how  terrible  their  own  lives  would  be  if  they 
betrayed  him  to  his  death.  The  man  who  be- 
trayed Leone  still  lives,  indeed.  He  is  [i  blind 
beggar  now,  without  feet  or  hands,  in  the  strc^ets 
of  Xajjlcs.  He  left  Sicily  with  his  life,  such  as 
the  outhiws  left  it  t(j  him.  to  be  an  example  and  a 
tiM'ror  to  tlie  enemies  of  the  miitia. 


-• ' 


\m 


f 


236 


COBLEONE 


MEKrtii  ■  ■- 


\m\i 


Nor  did  tlie  waiter  show  by  any  sign  or  word 
that  he  knew  anything  al)Out  the  guost  wlio  had 
gone,  when  lie  came  to  ch'ar  tlie  litth^  table  in 
Tebahlo's  room.  He  did  his  work  silently  and 
neatly  and  went  away.  Tebaldo  sai<  a  h)ng  time 
by  the  open  window,  thinking  over  what  he  had 
don<\.  and  he  congratulated  himself  on  having  acted 
wisely  in  an  extremity  from  which  there  had  been 
no  other  escape. 

It  all  looked  easy  and  simple  now.  To-morrow 
night,  he  thought,  he  should  be  sure  of  his  sitfety. 
Then  he  would  return  to  Rome  again.  Ilis  thoughts 
leverted  more  easily  now  to  the  dreams  which  Home 
suggested,  and  he  fell  asleep  with  a  sense  of  pres- 
ent relief  mingled  with  large  hopes  for  the  imme- 
diate future. 

The  Moscio,  on  his  part,  would  not  perhaps  have 
responded  so  promptly  to  Tebahlo's  message,  nor 
have  innlertaken  so  reiulily  to  carry  out  Tebahlo's 
wislu's,  if  there  iiad  been  nothing  for  the  outlaws 
to  gain  therehy.  Ihit  the  alliance  of  such  a  man 
was  not  to  he  neglected  at  anv  time.  He  had 
served  them  in  the  past,  and  he  could  be  of  con- 
si(ier,'ii;l"  service  to  them  now. 

^'dauro  had  made  up  his  mind  to  take  one  of  the 
Saracinesca,  if  the  capture  were  possible,  and  to 
extort  an  enormous  ransom,  sutlici(>nt  to  allow  him 
t(;  leave  t!ie  country  with  what  he  should  consider 
a  fortune.      He   was   well   inl'ormed,  and  he  recog- 


con  LEO  NK 


237 


ave 
nor 
lo's 
awR 
man 
liad 

•011- 

tho 

il  to 

liiiu 

idci' 


cog- 


nized tliat  a  family  wliicli  had  such  j  ower  as  the 
Saracinesca  liad  shown  in  getting  Ippolito's  case 
lieard  and  disposed  of  in  a  few  days,  and,  previ- 
ously, in  })ei'suading  the  authorities  to  move  a  body 
of  troojjs  to  Santa  Yitttn'ia,  must  be  al)le  to  dispose 
of  a  very  large  sum  of  money,     ^[oreover,  as  tlie 
IMoscio  had  frankly  admittiMl,  the  outlaws  liad  all 
believed  that  Tebaldo  had  killed  his  brother,  and, 
consetpiently,  that  he  could  be  completely  domi- 
nated l)y  anyone^  who  had  proof  of  the  fact.     Tlie 
Moscio   had   taken    advantage    of    this    instantly, 
as  has  been  seen.     Tebahh),   though   now  on   bad 
terms  with  the  Saracinesca,   was  well  accpuiinted 
with  their  habits  and  characters,  and  knew,  also, 
the   by-paths    about    (Janialdoli,    as    none    of    tlie 
brigands    themstdves    did.      lie    could    be    oi'    the 
greatest  use  in  an  undertaking  wliich  must  r(^(piire 
all  the  skill  and  courage  of  the  band.     For  it  was 
no  \vA\t  thing  to  cai'rv    off  such  a   'iuiii  as   San 
Giacinto  ov  Orsino,  protected  as  tliey  were  by  a 
force  of  car.ahincers  in  their  own  dwidling,  and  by 
the  tifty  soldiers  of  the  line  who  were  (jiiarten^d 
in  Santa  A'ittoria. 

When  Tato's  message  had  arrived,  ^Nfauro  had 
not  only  advised  the  Moscio  to  go  down  at  once, 
but  liad  instructiMl  him  to  use  every  means  in  his 
])ower,  even  to  threatening  Tebaldo  with  a  I'evela,- 
tion  of  his  former  services,  in  order  to  get  from 
him  the  truth  about  Francesco's  tlcath,  as  a  means 


If!  1 

!p: 

1 

v 

1 

■    1  ; 

1 

1 

B    J .  '     ;    1 

1 

fei;  i 

M'J      ' 

1 

IS  i  !  i      * ■ 

i 

l^i:  ! 

f>\ 

'. 

1 

t>88 


con LEONE 


of  cunti'olliiis^  him  in  the  future.  It  had  been  an 
easy  task,  as  lias  been  seen,  and  wlicni  the  ^loscio 
returned  to  tlie  band  tliiit  night,  his  aceount  of  the 
meeting  was  heard   with   profound  attention  and 


•a 

interest 


Mauro,  Avho  had  a  eurious  ttiste  for  (dnii-ehes, 
wouhl  have  gone  liimself  to  Saiit;i,  Vittoria.,  liad  lie 
not  been  there  on  the  previous  day.  A  seeond 
visit  might  have  roused  sus^jieion,  Avhereas,  since 
the  mur(h'r,  no  one  was  surprised  if  a  stranger 
asked  to  see  the  place  where  it  had  happened. 
The  Moscio  was,  therefore,  directed  to  go  liimself, 
as  he  had  intended. 

The  outlaws  were  encamped  at  that  time  in  cer- 
tain abandoned  huts  which  the  Duca  di  Fornasco 
had  built  as  a  safe  retreat  for  some  of  his  peo[)le 
during  the  cholera  season  of  ISSI.  'i'hey  were  so 
comph'telv  hidden  l)y  underbrush  and  sweet  luiw- 
thorn  thai"  it  recpiired  a  perfect  knowledge  of  their 
locality  to  find  them  at  all;  but  luiving  been  l)uilt 
on  an  eminence  in  the  hills,  in  order  to  obtain  the; 
])urest  air,  it  was  easy  to  ]iov\)  a  lookout  from 
them,  by  (dimbing  into  the  big  trtn^s  which  sur- 
rounded them  on  ail  sides.  A  spring,  situ.ited  on 
the  eastern  slope,  at  a  dist;in(^e  of  three  humlred 
yards,  supplied  the  outlaws  with  water  for  theiii- 
selv(^s  and  their  hors(\s.  Tebaldo,  in  former  days, 
ha<l  led  the  carabineers  to  this  si)ring,  in  their 
search   for  tlu^  band,  but  though  the  soldiers  Can- 


COnLEOXE 


239 


ciecl  that  they  had  then  quartered  the  hillside  in 
a,n  direetions,  Tebaldo  Jiad  skilfully  prevented 
them  from  eoming  upon  tlie  disused  huts  in  tlie 
brush,  wisely  judging  tliat  it  eould  be  of  no  use  to 
l)etray  sueli  a  hiding-place,  which  might  be  useful 
to  his  friends  in  the  future.  The  JNFosido  knew 
that  Tebaldo  would  probably  make  first  for  tlie 
spot  wlien  lie  came  to  keep  his  engagement  on  the 
following  day. 


^ 

w 

li 

f 

• 
; 

1 

.;  ,i 

P 

ft 

f  " 

V. 

; : 

CHArTER    XXXIV 

The  Moseio  slung  saddle-bags  over  his  saddle, 
as  though  he  were  travelling  some  distance,  and 
led  his  horse  down  from  tlie  huts  by  by-paths  in 
the  woods  till  lu;  came  to  a  place  where  the  trees 
descended  almost  to  the  road,  so  that  he  could 
rea(;h  the  hitter  without  crossing  any  open  country. 
Before  emerging  from  cover  h(»  looked  long  and 
carefully  u[)  and  down  the  valley  to  be  sure  that 
no  cai'abineers  were  in  sight,  who  might  be  sur- 
prised at  seeing  a  well-dressed  man  come  out  of 
the  forest.  A  few  peasants  Avere  visible,  strag- 
gling along  tli(^  road,  and  far  away  a  light  waggon 
was  ascending  th(^  hill.  The  ^Foscio  led  his  horse 
cai'et'iilly  across  the  ditch,  and  then  mounted  in 
Icl.uirely  i'ashion  and  rod(3  slowly  away  towards 
Santa  N'ittoria.  Th(^  outlaw,  who  may  at  any 
moment  need  his  horse's  greatest  ])owers,  spares 
him  whenever  he  can,  and  when  not  obliged  to 
escape  some  danger  will  hardly  ever  put  him  to 
a  canter. 

It  was  a  full  hour  before  the  village  was  in  sight. 

Once  on  the  highway,  the  Moseio  felt  perfectly  at 

his  ease,  and  barely  took  the  trouble  to  glance  be- 

240 


rlit. 

at 

bi3- 


COULEONE 


241 


hind  him  at  a  turn  of  the  road.  He  liad  excellent 
papers  of  various  desci'iptious  about  liiiu,  including 
a  United  States  ])assport  of  re(?ent  date,  in  which 
he  appeared  as  an  Ameri(;an  citizen,  and  a  proper 
discharge  as  corporal  from  the  military  service^ 
together  with  a  highly  commendatory  letter  from 
the  captain  of  the  troop  in  wliich  tlie  unhicky 
individual  to  whom  the  paper  had  Itelonged  had 
served  his  time  in  ^Eilan.  lie  also  possessed  a 
gun  li(!ense  in  the  same  man's  name,  luul  the 
description  of  him  wliich  accompanied  it  suited 
him  ver\'^  well.  Some  of  tlie  [)a})ers  h(^  liad 
bought  at  a  good  price,  and  sonm  lie  had  taken 
without  nuich  ceremony,  l)ecause  they  suited  him. 
To-day  he  did  not  even  (^arry  a  gun  and  was,  in 
reality,  altogether  unarmed,  though  he  would 
naturally  have  been  su})pose(l  to  have  a,  pistol  or 
a  knife  about  him,  like  other  peo[)le  in  Sicily,  if 
Jinvone  had  asked  his  name,  lie  would  have  said 
that  he  was  Angelo  Laria  of  (Jaltanissetta,  a  small 
farmer.  The  nann^  corresponded  with  tlu^  ])apers 
of  the  soldier,  and  as  he  was  unarmed  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  find  anv  excuse  for  arresting 
him  on  a  mere  sus])icion. 

If  Ji  UKin  carries  so-called  forbidd<ui  weapons,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  carabineei's  can  arrest  him  foi' 
that  offeiuje  alone,  if  they  tind  it  out,  and  can  hold 
him  till  he  can  ]»rove  his  identity.  A  knife,  such 
as  t)ne  can  stab  with,  is  forbidden,  and  the  s[)<'cii  1 

vol..  II.  —  K 


!i 


>.i 


1 

:  1- ; : 

-■■' 

'    1 

■ 

•  ■'/'■  ■ 
■   '!  '  ■ 

I'ii: 

p 

I    : 

242 


CORLEOyE 


license,  which  is  re(|uii-e(l  to  carry  a.  ])istol,  is  not 
often  granted  exci^pt  to  very  well  known  persons, 
tliongh  a  vast  nuniher  of  ])e()[)l(^  really  carry  re- 
volvers witliont  any  license  at  [ill. 

Tlie  ]\roscio  dismounted  at  the;  gate,  walked  up 
the  street  with  his  horse,  encpiired  for  tlie  sacris- 
tan, and  brought  him  back  to  tlie  little  church 
with  the  keys. 

"Have  the  goodness  to  hold  my  horse,"  he  said 
to  the  fat  man.  ''  I  only  wish  to  look  at  the  church 
for  curiosity,  and  I  will  go  in  alone." 

The  sacristan  did  not  know  him  l)y  sight,  but 
with  a  true  Sicilian's  instinct  recognized  the 
^  maffeuso '  in  his  manner.  He  proposed,  how- 
ever, to  tether  the  horse  to  an  old  stake  that  was 
driven  into  the  ground  near  the  door,  in  order  to 
go  in  with  the  stranger  and  ex[)lain  how  tlie  priest 
had  niui'dered  Francesco.  Mv  had  got  the  account 
off  verv  gliblv  bv  tliis  time. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  Moscio,  "in  those  saddle- 
bags I  have  important  papers  and  a  (piantity  of 
valuable  tilings,  tlie  [)ro])erty  of  an  aunt  of  mine 
who  is  dead,  and  may  tli<'  l^ord  preserve  her  in 
Lrlorv!  L  am  takinsj,'  these  things  mvself,  for 
greater  safety,  to  my  cousin,  her  son,  who  lives  in 
Taormina.  Now  the  reason  Avliy  I  begged  you  to 
hold  my  horse  is  not  that  I  fear  for  him,  though  he 
is  a  good  animal,  but  because^  some  evilly  disposed 
person  might  steal  the  jiroperty  of  my  jxior  aunt. 


COR  LEONE 


243 


lUe- 

y  of 

nine 
in 

for 
'S  in 
lU  to 

I  lie 

)S('(l 

lint. 


You  understimd,  and  you  will  liavo  tlio   sj^oodnos:- 
to  hold  the  horse  while  1  go  in." 

The  sacristun  looked  at  him  and  sniile<l.  The 
Moscio  sniih'd  very  SAV(M'tly  in  answer,  pushed  the 
door  o])en  and  went  in,  (dosing  it  hidiind  him  and 
leavincf  tlie  keys  on  tlie  outsid(\  I  hit  when  he 
was  in  the  churidi,  he  took  from  his  poeket  a  small 
wedge  of  soft  ])ine  wood,  gently  sli[)ped  in  under 
the  door  and  jammed  it  noiselessly.  It  would 
have  been  rather  difficult  to  open  tin?  door  from 
the  outside  after  that.  Then  lie  walked  leisurtdy 
up  the  ehurch,  his  sjjurs  ringing  loudly  so  that  the 
sacristan  might  hear  through  the  door  that  he  was 
in  no  hurry. 

He  went  up  the  altar  steps,  and  smiled  as  he 
noticed  a  few  round,  dark  s])ots  on  the  marble, 
and  one  irregular  stain.  That  was  the  yerv  place 
where  it  had  lia})])ened.  He  knelt  down  and  tried 
to  put  his  arm  through  the  grating,  but  the  space 
was  too  narrow.  AVith  the  sami^  leisurely  cer- 
tainty he  slippcMJ  off  his  vcdvet  jacket  and  laid  it 
on  the  altar,  rolhul  u])  his  sleeves,  arid  triml  again, 
with  his  bare  arm.  Xo  one,  seeing  him  in  his 
coat,  and  glancing  at  his  small  hands,  would  liave 
sus[)eete(l  the  solid  muscles  aboye.  I'^veu  now  th(^ 
grating  was  too  (dose,  it  was  of  light  iron,  liow- 
ever,  and  twisted  in  a  decorative  design,  lie 
easily  forced  a  scridl  iu  one  direction,  a.  wimling 
stem    in   another,  and  got    his   hand   down   to   the 


244 


con  LEONE 


I  iii^ 


Lottom  of  tlie  depressioii  in  Avliich  tlie  glass  casket 
was  placed. 

He  withdrew  the  knife,  and  slipped  it  into  the 
pocket  of  his  riding-breeches;  tlien  lie  readjusted 
the  iron  ornaments,  buttoned  his  shirt  sleeve,  and 
})ut  on  liis  jacket.  As  lie  walked  down  the  church 
again  he  took  the  wea[)on  out.     The  broad  blade 

as    stuck    in    its    \)lack   leathern    sheath,    and    it 


A\' 


d  all  1 


th  to  1( 


Wh 


h 


required  all  iiis  strengtn  to  locseii  it.      w  lien  lie 
got  it  out,  he  saw  that  the  steel  was  covered  with 
talk  rust. 

It  was  a  piiy,  he  thought,  as  he  dropi)ed  it  into 
his  pocket  ;igain,  iVn-  it  had  evidentl^^  been  a  good 
knib\  lie  would  clean  it  with  sand  and  a  brick, 
and  sliar]H'n  it  on  a  stone,  during  the  evenings,  not 
because  he  could  not  lia\  v^  g(^t  a  better  oik^  easily 
enough,  but  b('(*aus(^  it  was  an  agretnible  and  inter- 
esting n'iiiejubranc(\  He  drew  the  wedge  from 
under  the  door  without  making  any  noise  and  went 
out  into  the  0})en  air.  The  fat  sacristan  had  lit  a 
clay  pipe  witli  a  wild  cherry  wood  stem,  and  was 
slowly  walking  the  horse  up  and  down  in  the 
shade.  The  ]\Ioseio  took  a  small  note  from  a  neat 
])ocketbook.  J*]ve"  when  notes  are  scarce,  in  the 
wild  liuances  of  modern  Italy,  the  outlaws  manage 
to  have  them  because  they  are  easily  can'ied. 

''])()  you  wish  me  to  ehang(^  it  for  you?"  en- 
quired the  sacristan,  holding  the  flimsy  bit  of 
paper  between  his  thumb  and  linger. 


CORLKOSE 


:24i 


I'oni 
eiit 
it  a 
was 
the 


eii- 
of 


"Keep  it  for  yourself,  my  friend,  witli  a  thou- 
sand tlianks, "  replied  the  ^Moseio. 

lUit  the  saeristau  refused,  anel  held  tlie  note  out 
to  him,  returning  it. 

"We  are  not  of  tliat  kind,"  he  said,  with  dig- 
nity.    "We  do  not  wish  to  Ije  })aid  for  courtesy." 

"There  are  doubtless  many  [)Oor  i)ersons  in  tlie 
village,"  answered  the  Mosiuo,  smiling,  and  hcgin- 
ning  to  mount.  ^  You  will  do  nu^  a  favour  l)y 
giving  the  money  to  those  wlio  need  it,  re(piesting 
them  to  pray  for  the  soul  of  my  poor  aunt." 

"In  that  case  it  is  different,"  rt'i)lied  tlie  fat 
num,  gravely.  "I  tliank  you  in  the  name  of  our 
poor  people.  As  for  me,  I  am  always  here  to 
serve  you  and  your  friends." 

The  ]\Ioseio  glanced  at  the  man's  face  as  the  last 
words  were  sjjoken.  Tebtihh)  had  told  him  who 
the  sacristan  was,  and  had  described  him  accu- 
rately. 

"A  ijrreetinu:  to  your  brother,  Don  Taddeo  the 
grocer,"  said  the  outlaw,  settling  himscdf  in  the 
saddle. 

The  sacristan  looked  u[)  shar[)ly.  iM'ing  cross- 
eyed, it  was  almost  impossible  to  know  with  which 
eye  he  was  looking  at  one.  lUit  the  exjtression 
did  not  change  as  he  answered. 

"Thank  you.  You  shall  be  obeyed.  Our  ser- 
vice to  your  friends." 

They  understood  each  other  perfectly  well,  and 


pi 


24 1; 


COULEOyE 


I  ■' 


I 


1;^    « 


the  Moscio  rode  slowlv  Jiwiiy  into  tlio  brilliant 
light,  leaving-  the  i'at  man  to  lock  uj)  the  ehurcli 
and  go  home.  Thi^  onthnv  had  made  a  friend  of 
him,  but  had  not  thought  tit  to  ask  him  any  ques- 
tions about  tlie  state  of  the  village  or  the  move- 
ments  of  the  Saraeinesea.  It  was  of  no  use  to  go 
any  further  than  necessary  at  a  first  meeting,  and 
the  band  had  plenty  of  g 


d 


>f  inf( 


ati 


source 

ieoaiao  si)ent  tiie  mornnig  in  a  soi't  of  feverish 
anxiety  against  which  he  struggled  in  vain.  He 
went  out  for  a  stroll  and  passed  twice  before 
Basili's  house.  Tlie  weather  was  beginning  to  be 
hot,  and  the  blinds  were  as  ^ightlv  closed  as 
though  the  house  were  not  inhabited.  As  he 
passed  for  the  second  time  he  fancied  he  heard 
Aliandra's  voice  singing  softly  in  the  distance. 
He  could  hardly  have  been  mistaken,  for  it  had 
the  (piality  and  carrying  })Ower,  even  when  least 
loud,  wlii(di  distinguishes  the  great  voices  of  the 
world,  tlie  half  a  dozen  in  a  century  that  leave 
nndying  echoes  behind  them  when  they  are  still. 
His  blood  rushed  np  in  his  throat  at  the  sound 
and  almost  clioked  him,  so  that  he  ])ulled  at  his 
collar  with  his  finger,  as  if  it  were  too  tight. 

H(^  had  not  intended  to  try  to  see  her  again,  but 
the  fascination  of  the  light  and  distant  song  was 
more  than  he  could  resist.  He  knocked  and 
waited  on  the  litth;  steps  outside  the  door.  He 
was  sure  that  he  heard  someone  moving  upstairs 


COliLEOXE 


24T 


ice. 
had 

east 


tl 


le 


live 

ill. 

unci 


lus 


I  but 
kvas 
Lnd 
llle 


Lirs 


and  approacliin*;'  a  window,  ;ind  lu'  i^ucssed  that  lie 
could  he  seen  tliroui^h  tlio  slats  of  the  hlinds.  A 
long  time  passed  and  he  heard  no  sound.  Then,  :is 
usual,  the  stahle-in;in  came  to  the  door,  witli  liis 
faithful,  stolitl  face.  He  began  to  give  the  cus- 
tomary answer. 

"The  Signorina  Aliaudra  has  gone  to  the  country 
with  —  " 

"  Let  me  (jome  in,"  said  Teljaldo,  interru[)tiiig 
the  man  roughly. 

lie  was  active,  strong,  and  in  a  bad  temper,  and 
before  the  man  could  liinder  liim,  Tebahlo  had 
pushed  himself  into  the  house  and  was  shutting 
the  door  behind  him. 

"And  the  notary  is  asleep,"  said  the  man,  con- 
cluding the  fornuihi,  in  a  tone  (»f  sur[)rise  and 
protest,  but  attem[)ting  no  furtlier  i-esistance. 

'"Wake  him,  then!"  cried  Tebahh^,  his  natu- 
rallv   smooth   voice   rising    to  a    higli  and  almost 


brassv   tone. 


u 


And    the    devil    take    you,    your 


mother,  and  both  your  souls!"  he  added,  relaps- 
ing into  dialect  in  his  anger. 

He  must  have  been  heard  to  the  to])  of  tlie 
house,  and  by  Gesualda  in  her  kitchen.  Immedi- 
ately there  came  a  sound  of  footste[)s  from  above. 
l)ut  Tebahlo  was  '  already  mounting  the  stairs. 
Aliandra  was  comiu'^  down  to  meet  him,  her  face 
Hushed  with  annoyance  and  her  eyes  s]»arkling. 

"What   is   tliis,   Don   Tebaldo?"   she   asked,  as 


ir 

^ 

i 

248 


von  LEONE 


\\ 


It 

I  >' 

Is  ' 


I  -^ 


yi 


soon  iis  slie  (^luiL^lit  sight  ol:'  him.  "liy  what  right 
th)  you  —  " 

I[(i  interrupted  lier. 

"Because  1  mean  to  see  you,"  lie  answered. 
"When  you  are  in  the  country  ^\ith  (Jesualda 
visiting  your  friends,  on(3  ought  Jiot  to  hear  you 
singing  in  JJamhizzo  as  one  passes  your  house." 

Aliandra  was  not  really  very  angry  that  lie 
should  have  got  in,  for  she  was  beginning  to  iuul 
her  father's  eoni])any  a  little  dull.  But  she  made 
a  movement  of  annoyance  as  though  disjdeased  at 
having  betraved  lierself  bv  lier  singing. 

"  AVell  —  go  down  to  the  sitting-room,"  she  said. 
"I  cannot  turn  you  out,  since  you  have  got  in." 

They  descended,  and  shj  sent  away  the  stable- 
man, and  made  Tebaldo  go  into  the  front  room, 
leaving  the  door  open,  however,  as  slie  followed 
him.  His  anger  disa[)[H'ared  when  luu*  manner 
changed.  He  took  lier  hand  and  tried  to  make  her 
sit  (h)\vn,  but  she  smiled  and  shook  her  liead. 

"I  cannot  stay,"  slu>  s[ii(L  ''Jhit  as  for  your 
hiiving  b'M'u  ke[)t  out,  that  is  regally  my  father's 
doing.  1  sup})Ose  he  is  right,  but  L  am  glad  to  see 
you  for  a  moment.  I  was  afraid  you  had  gone 
back  to  Kome." 

"Kot  without  seeing  you.  liut  what  absurd 
idea  possessc^s  your  father  —  " 

"Husli!  Not  so  loud  I  The  doors  are  open 
upstairs,  too,  and  one  hears  everything." 


Ill 


('<)]!  L  1:0  \E 


249 


a  T 


V 


a 


you 


riieu  I  will  shut  the  door  — 
No,  no!     Please  do  not  I     He  would  scold,  for 
lie  would  certainly  kuow.     besides,  you  must  <K)  " 

'M  do  not  understand  you  at  all,''  said  Tebaldo, 
lowering  his  voice.  "The  hist  time  T  saw  you, 
you  were  just  like  yourstdf  again,  and  now  —  1  (b 
not  understand.     You  are  (juite  changed." 

"Xo.  1  am  always  the  same,  Tebaldo."  Tier 
voice  was  suddenly  kind.  '•  I  told  you  the  whole 
truth  in  Jlome,  once  for  all.  Why  nuist  I  say  it 
over  again?     Is  it  of  any  use?  " 

"It  never  was  of  any  use  to  say  it  all,"  answered 
Tebaldo.     "  You  do  not  b(dieve  that  I  love  you  —  '' 

"You  are  wrong.  I  do  believe  it  —  as  nuich  as 
you  do  yourself!"  She  laughed  rather  irrek- 
vantly. 

"  AVhv  do  you  laugh?  "  he  asked. 

"  Su(;h  love  is  a  laughing  matter,  my  dear 
Tebaldo.  I  am  not  a  child.  It  is  better  that 
love  should  end  in  laughter  tlum  in  tears." 

"Why  should  it  end  at  all?" 

"  Because  you  are  engaged  to  marry  another 
woman,  dear  friend.  A  very  good  reason  —  for 
me."     Slie  laughed  again. 

"You  have  only  a  dead  man's  Avord  for  it,"  said 
Tebaldo,  grimly.  "  Unfortunatidy  he  is  where  he 
cannot  take  it  back.  Ikit  I  ran  for  him.  It  is 
not  true." 

He  set  his  eyes,  as  it  were,  while  he  looked  at 


!l 


lit. 

1^ 


•250 


con  LEONE 


]\vv,  ill  ordt  r  to  iiuiko  lu-i"  believe  time  ho  was  tell- 
ing the  truth.  ]>ut  she  knew  him  well,  for  she  had 
Ivuown  him  long,  and  she  doubted  hiin  still.  She 
shook  her  iiead. 

"'It  u\[\y  not  be  literally  true,"  she  said.  '' JUit 
praetieally  it  is  the  faet.  You  mean  to  marry  the 
American.  Tlint  is  why  neither  my  father  nor  I 
wisli  you  to  come  to  the  house.  You  injure  my 
reputation  here,  in  my  own  town,  as  you  do  in 
Home.  If  vou  loved  me,  you  wcmld  not  wish  to 
do  that,  I  have  held  mv  head  hii>'h  at  the  beii-in- 
ning,  and  that  is  the  hardest.  I  did  not  mean  to 
say  it  over  again,  but  you  force  me  to.  Do  you 
want  nu'?  ^larry  me.  If  you  were  a  rich  man,  I 
suppose  1  should  be  ashanunl  to  s])eak  as  I  do. 
But  we  are  botli  poor,  }v)U  for  a  noblenum  aiul  I 
for  an  artist.  So  there;  is  no  question  of  interest, 
is  there'.'  I  have  not  seen  your  Americ^an  heii'ess. 
Slu>  may  be  handsomer  tha)i  1,  for  1  am  not  the 
most  beautiful  wonuin  in  the  world.  She  is  rich. 
'IMiiit  is  her  advantage.  She  may  be  a  good  girl, 
but  she  is  no  better  than  I,  tlu^  singer,  the  notary's 
(hiughter,  wlio  have  nothing  in  my  whole  life  to 
blusii  for.  Tiook  at  me,  now,  a^  I  am.  You  know 
me.  (Mi"ose  between  us,  and  let  this  end.  lam 
willing  to  marrv  vou  if  vou  wa-nt  me,  but  1  am  not 
willing  to  sacrifice  my  good  name  t»'  you,  nor  to 
any  man  in  I'aiiope,  king,  jU'ince,  or  gentleman. 
Here  I  stand,  and  vou  mav  look  at  me  for  the  last 


liMI^ 


llfll 


COULKOyE 


w) 


i>r)i 


tiino,  oouipare  me  with  your  foivigu  young  ladv 
luul  make  up  your  luiuil  dclinitoly.      If  it  is  to  U 


iiuirnai'i 


O'   1 


I  will 


marry  vou  at  ouco.      If  not,  I  v.  ill 


not  soe  you  again,  if  1  can  possildy  help  it,  either 


here  or  in  Uonie. 


?? 


As  she  finished  her  loin 


s[»eeeh  she  cros'-'"d  her 


arms  behind  her  and  faced  him  riitlier  proudlv, 
drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  sniilinu-  a 
littl .%  but  with  an  earnest  look  in  her  eyes.  She 
had  never  looked  so  handsome.  The  few  days 
of  eountry  life  had  comi)l(.'tely  rested  her  young 
face. 

"You  are  frank,  at  all  events,"  said  Tebaldo, 
half  meehanieally,  for  he  was  thinking  more  of  her 
than  of  her  words. 

"And  it  is  time  that  you  should  b(^  frank,  too," 
she  answered.  "  Vou  must  make  vour  choice,  and 
abide  by  it.  Aliaudra  JJasili  or  the  A.meri(;an 
girl." 

Jle  was  silent,  for  he  was  in  a  dilemma,  ami 
was,  besides,  too  nervous  fVom  all  he  had  been 
through  to  lik(i  being  di'iveu  to  a,  sudden  decision. 
On  the  other  hand,  her  bea,uty  stirred  liim  now,  as 
it  had  not  done  before,  and  the  idea  (d'  giving  her 
up  was  unbearable.  She  looked  at,  him  steadily 
for  several  seconds.  More  than  once  his  li])S 
jKirted,  as  though  he  were  going  to  speak,  but  no 
words  came.  (Jraduallv  her  mouth  grew  S(;ornful 
and  her  eyes  hard. 


jlr  ■ 

1^ 

1  •" , 

!     i  '  ■   - 

ri' 


■^1  ■  i! 


u 


'*•.!      % 


•1 


COliLEOXE 


All  at  oiioe  slie  laughed  a  little  harshly  and 
turned  towards  the  (U)()r. 

"You  have  chosen,''  she  said.     "Goodbye." 

lUit  tlie  passionate  longing  that  h;id  assailed 
him  outside,  in  tlie  strei't,  at  tlie  sound  of  her 
voice,  had  doubled  and  ti'cbled  now.  As  she 
turned,  the  folds  of  her  gown  followed  her  figure 
in  a  wav  that  di'ove  him  mad. 

"Aliandral"  he  cried,  overtaking  luu'  in  an 
instant,  and  catching  hov  in   his  arms. 

She  struggled  a  little  as  he  forced  her  head  back- 
wards upon  his  shoulder. 

"You!"  ]I(^  kissed  the  word  upon  her  lips 
again  and  again.  "Youl  You!"  he  rei)eated. 
"1  cannot  live  without  you,  and  you  know  it!  Yes 
—  I  will  marry  you  —  before  (Jod,  1  will  —  " 

And  many  ])assionat(>,  broken  words  and  solemn 
vows  mingled  with  his  kisses  as  he  stood  there 
l)i'essing  licr  to  him.  It  \va,s  not  a  n()l)le  love,  but 
it  was  genuine  and  lieree,  as  all  tlu^  man's  passions 
were,  wlit'tlier  fo!'  love,  or  hatred,  or  revenge.  It 
was  when  hv  had  let  them  driv(>  him  to  reckless 
deeds  that  his  other  nature  asserte(l  itself,  cahn 
and  treacherous  and  s(df-('ontaiiied. 

As  for  Aliandra  hersell',  slie  had  saved  her  S(df- 
res])ect,  thougli  tew  people  might  res[H'ct  her 
for  what  she  had  (haie.  She  was  not  a.  very 
romantic  or  sentimental  \<tung  woman,  l»ut  accord- 
ing  to  her   lights  she   was  a,  gooii   girl.      She   had 


CORLECNE 


253 


hor 
she 
;iii'e 

ail 


been  taught  to  consi(h*r  that  all  men  were  originally 
and  derivatively  l)ad,  and  that  every  woman  had  a 
genuine  right  to  make  tlie  most  advantageous  mar- 
riage she  could.  Slie  did  not  in  the  least  expect 
that  TeV)aldo  would  be  faithful  to  lier,  but  she 
firmly  intended  to  be  an  honest  wife,  on  general 
principles.  AVliat  she  most  wanted  was  his  name, 
for  which  slie  nu  ant  to  earn  a  fortune  by  her  art. 
She  had  never  hvon  in  love  and,  therefore,  did  not 
believe  tliat  love  had  any  real  existence,  a  view 
not  uncommon  Avith  very  young  i)eople  who  h.ave 
no  [)articular  scuitimentality  in  tluMr  comi)ositio;i. 
And  so  rigid  were  ln'r  ideas  in  one  direction  that 
slie  resented  tlu^  demonstrative  AViiv  in  wldch  Te- 
baldo  expressed  liis  decision. 

lie  Avas  almost  beside  himscdi",  for  his  nerves 
liad  been  already  unstrung,  and  her  beauty  com- 
])let(dy  dominated  him  for  the  time  ])eing,  so  tliat 
he  forgot  even  Miss  Slayback's  millions,  his  own 
evil  deeds,  and  his  meeting  witli  tlie  outlaw. 
There  was  nothing  wdiicli  hv  was  not  ready  to  do. 
IJasili  sliould  di'aw  up  thc^  marriages  contract  at 
ouoo,  and  on  the  following  nu)rning  tli(>y  would  be 
formallv  betrothed.  Onlv  tiie  fact  tliat  In;  could 
not  with  pro[)riety  Ik;  mai'i-ied  within  less  than 
thriH'  months  of  his  brotluM-'s  death  recalled  him 
to  himsidf. 

The  afternoon  was  already  advancing  wIkui  he 
left  the  house  and  went  l»aek  to  the  inn,  half  dazed 


h 


11 


tl" 


!■■: 


254 


COULEOXE 


and  almost  forgetful  alike  of  past  and  future, 
as  be  walked  up  tlu*  street.  Uefore  he  liad  gone  a 
hundred  yards,  however,  he  had  regaiiunl  enough 
eonipusure  to  thiidv  of  what  he  had  to  do,  and 
when  he  reached  i\w  inn,  no  one  would  have 
sui)posed  that  anything  unusual  had  happened  to 
him. 

As  lie  r()(h'  out  of  the  town,  h.alf  an  hour  later, 
he  vagu(dv  wondered  at  himself  for  wluit  he  liad 
done,  and  wonih'red,  also,  how  he  could  get  out  of 
his  ])resent  ditHeult  position. 

lie  looked  at  liis  wateh,  and  saw  that  it  was 
growing  late.  \\q  had  far  to  ride,  and  had  in- 
tended to  start  much  earlier  in  the  aftiu-noon.  Tie 
had  the  inidvecper's  best  liorse,  but  it  was  rather 
a  slow  aninuil,  not  to  be  eom[)ared  with  Uasili's 
brown  marc.  He  (piickcuied  his  jiaee  as  w(dl  as  he 
could,  however,  and  (bantered  along  the  more  level 
stretches  of  the  liigli  road.  At  the  first  op])or- 
tunity  he  struck  off  into  ••  bridle  j)ath  to  the  right 
wlii(di  led  westward  towards  the  heights  above 
Maniace. 

1I(^  liad  ridden  sevenil  miles,  in  and  out  among 
the  little  undidations  of  the  u}»per  valley,  when  he 
came  out  upon  a  broad  bit  of  meadow,  such  as  one 
oceasionalh'  linds  in  that  region,  just  bevond  thi^ 
bhudv  lauds,  lie  put  his  horse  at  a.  gallop,  taking 
advantage  of  the  chance  to  gain  a  little  time,  and 
riding  diag(»iially  for  a  point  at  the  op[»osit.e  side 


'■  11 


!  • 


con LEONE 


255 


I'a 


from  wliicli  tlie  bridle  path  led  u[,'  to  the  hills,  as 
he  well  knew. 

He  was  less  than  lialf  way  aeross  tlie  u^i-ass  when 
h(^  heard  tl;  lieavy  tread  of  liorses  ^allopinu^  after 
him,  w^ith  the  (danking  of  arms  and  a  sonnd  of 
dee})  voices  eallinu^  ont  to  liim.  He  looked  ronnd, 
bnt  lu*  knew  already  that  lie  was  followed  hy 
mounted  carabineers,  and  that  they  could  overtake 
him  easily  enou«,di.  After  a  moment's  hesitation 
he  drew  rein  .and  waited  (juietly  for  the  troopers 
to  come  uj).  He  wished  that  he  had  cari'ied  his 
rifle  across  his  saddle-bow  instead  of  at  his  back, 
for  he  at  Hrst  Ixdieved  that  there  was  some  infor- 
mation against  him  from  Santa  V^ittoria,  and  that 
they  meant  to  arrf^st  him.  On  the  other  hand,  to 
have  unslung-  his  rifle,  after  seeing  that  they  were 
carabineers,  would  have  been  to  acknowledge  that 
he  feared  them,  llis  mind  worked  (piickly  as  he 
sat  still  in  his  saddle,  waiting  for  them. 

Jbit  when  they  w(U'e  fifty  yards  away  one  of 
them  si)oke,  and  reined  in  his  (diarger. 

"It  is  Don  Tebaldo  Tagliuca!"  he  cxclainnMl  in 
a  ton(^  of  surprise,  and  in  the  desolate  stillness  of 
the  lomdy  held,  Tebaldo  heard  the  words  and 
understood  that  he  had  been  mistiiken  b>r  some- 
one (dse. 

The  other  trooper  laughed  a  little,  and  tliey  both 
trotted  u[)  to  Tebaldo,  saluting  when  they  were 
near  him. 


li:v 


\i 


250 


COllLEOXE 


"1  hog  your  j^ardon,"  said  the  older  soldier. 
'"  Wo  took  you  for  a  strauger.  It  is  a  lonely 
place,  aiul  we  have  news  that  the  l)rigands  are 
somewhere  in  tlu'  neighbourliood.  I  trust  we 
liave  not  annoyed  you,  s ignore.  Accept  our  ex- 
cuses.'' 

Tebaldo  smiled  easily. 

"  Vou  took  me  for  an  outlaw,"  he  said.  "It  is 
natural  enougli,  I  am  sure.  Do  you  know  your 
way?     Can  I  be  of  service  to  you?" 

The  elder  trooj)er  asked  one  or  two  questions 
about  the  directions  in  which  the  bridle  paths  led. 
lie  evidently  knew  tlie  country  tolerably  well,  and 
Tebaldo  was  wise  enough  not  to  deceive  him. 
Aftt'r  a  few  monuMits'  conversation,  lie  offered 
the  men  a  cou}>le  of  eigai's,  which  thi^'  gratefully 
accepted  and  liid  in  the  inner  pockets  of  tlieir 
tunics,  after  wliicli  tliey  sahited  again  and  rode 
away  in  the  direction  wlience  they  had  come.  In 
disturbed  times  such  ])atrols  are  to  be  met  with 
occasionally  on  almost  every  practicable  bridle 
l)atb,  and  the  fo()t-cui"abin(M»rs  scramble  up  and 
down  tlirough  the  country  in  pairs,  even  where 
there  are  no  paths  at  all. 

As  he  rode  on  alone  Tebaldo  was  aware  that  his 
heart  was  beatimr  faster  than  usual,  lie  had  been 
startled  l»y  the  unexpected  meeting,  and  for  om^ 
niomc'.it  had  e\]»ected  to  be  arrested,  lie  now 
reflected  that  lu'  liail  no  real  cause  to  fear  any  such 


COliLEOSE 


257 


eatnstroplio,  since,  ])y  this  tiuh'.  the  Mdscio  iiud 
certainly  recoveivd  tlio  knife,  which  rcpn^sentcd 
the  unly  possible  evidence  against  him.  lUit  the 
physical  ini[)ression  remained,  and  it  was  very  like 
fear.  lie  had  raindy  been  afraid  of  nnvtliiim-  in 
his  life,  and  the  sensation  was  disturl)in,n',  loi-  it 
warned  liini  that  the  strain  on  liis  whole  nature 
was  beginning  to  weaken  him. 

He  pressed  on,  urging  his  la/y  liorse  wlienevei- 
tlie  ground  permitted,  and  cutting  across  through 
tlu^  woods,  from  one  bridle  patli  to  anotlier,  as 
often  as  he  could,  shortening  tlie  way  t(j  gain 
tim(\  He  was  near  the  foot  ol'  the  liill  on  wliicli 
the  outhiws  wen;  cam[)ing  and  was  just  ;d)out  to 
cross  tlie  streamlet  which  ran  down  from  tlie 
S])ring,  when  a  man  in  tweed  clotlies,  that  had  an 
i'lnglish  look,  (piietly  step[)ed  out  from  behind  a 
bush  and  stood  in  his  way,  at  the  water's  edge, 
holding  a  riHe  in  his  hand.  Tcbaldo's  horse 
stop]ted  of  his  own  accord. 

"  Vour  nanu',  if  you  please,"  said  the  outlaw, 
civilly. 

"Tebaldo  l*agliuca,.  I  come  by  appointuient  to 
visit  one  cd'  vour  i'rieiHls.'' 

"Xamehim,  if  y(U  please." 

"The  .Moscio,"  said  Tebaldo,  knowing  that  if 
the  names  had  not  agreed  with  those  given  t  >  the 
sentimd  as  a  pass,  the  man  would  probably  have 
killed  him  instantlv  as  a,  spy. 

VOL.    H. S 


mh: 


fe.    ' 


.,  I 


;S  •' 


^    } 

1 

t 

>^ 

258 


COULKOXE 


'^  1  will  sliow  yon.  the  way/''  said  the  brigand, 
slinging  liis  ritie  on  lii.s  shonlder. 

"1  know  tli(^  way  perlVctly,"  answered  Tebaldo. 
^^Pray  do  not  tronble  yourself." 

"It  is  a  ])leasnre,"  returned  the  other,  and  he 
cleared  tlie  little  stream  at  a  bound. 

Tebiddo  guessed  that  he  Avas  not  altogether 
trusted,  vwn  now.  As  the  man  walked  up  the 
hill  he  wliistled  softiv,  and  im  a  few  nionnMits, 
enu-igii;g  froiii  t!ic»  !;■  '>]■  mVi  a  liith^  clearing, 
Tebaldo  saw  tl»e  Mr  udn  \''i)ir!ng  for  hiiu.  It  was 
duskv  under  the  trees,  but  Til.  Jdo  could  see  the 
])leasant  smile  on  tlie  girlish  face.  The  ^Vfoscio 
had  his  ritie  under  his  arm,  and  was  smoking  a 
cigarette.  The  man  wlio  liad  IimI  Tebaldc  to  the 
spot  disap[)i'ar(Hl  into  tlie  l)ruyh,  returning  to  his 
l)ost  by  the  str»'an\.     Tebaldo  dismounted. 

"Have  you  met  anyone?'"  encpiired  the  outlaw, 
shaking  hands. 

"  Xo,"  answered  Tebaldo,  "not  since  I  left  the 
high  road." 

He  had  reflected  that  he  liad  done  unwiscdy  in  not 
turning  back  with  the  earal)iueers  and  riding  with 
them  as  far  as  the  road,  in  order  to  disarm  any  possi- 
ble suspicions,  and  lie  knew  that  the  Moscio  would 
think  so,  too.  He  should,  ii'  necessary,  have  even 
waited  till  the  next  day  Indbre  coming  uj)  to  the 
cam]),  l)ut  his  anxiety  to  see  the  knife  safe  in  tlu^ 
JMoscio's  [)()ssessioii  had  outweighed  everything  else. 


COIILKOXE 


259 


a 


So    miTcli   the   liottor,"   answered   tlip    ontl; 


i\v 


unsuspiciously.     "IJy  tliebye,  lieni  is  your  knife. 
Is  this  itr" 

He  held  it  out  to  Tebaldo,  wlio  took  it  eai^^'rly, 
Lis  fingers  closing  lound  tlie  sheath,  as  thonj^li  he 
■..ere  afraid  of  dropping  ic.  He  ))rcatlied  liard 
hetween  his  teeth  once  or  t\\  "e,  as  he  hjokcd  nt  it, 
'•1  sheer  satisfaction. 

"Itisy^airr'  1  suppose?"  observed  tlu*  Mnscio, 
interrogatively,  for  Tebaldo  had  forgotten  to  s[»eak. 
"There  was  no  other." 

"Yes.  I  thank  you.  I  am  very  grateful  to 
you."  The  words  were  as  sincere  as  any  the  n>;i  i 
had  ever  uttered,  and  lie  handed  the  knife  back 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  the  outlaw.  "I^  w.s 
interesting  to  see  the  pkice.  I  am  glad  to  hi>  e 
served  you.  Sinee  you  have  taken  the  tro.  'e  i,o 
eome  so  far,  will  you  ac(u»pt  our  hos])itality  this 
evening?  You  ean  liardly  g<*t  l)ack  to  Kan(hiz/o 
to-night.  jManro  is  in  a  very  good  huiuour  tliis 
evening,  and  the  weather  is  pleasant.  You  will 
not  suffer  much  ijiconvenience.  Tlu^  liuts  arc 
(piite  dry.  We  will  try  and  nudvc  you  sonu^ 
return  for  your  fornuu'  lu)S])italitv." 

Tebaldo  aeee[)ted  readily  emtugh,  and  they 
began  to  ascend  the  hill  at  once.  It  was  some 
distance  to  the  top.  The  Moscio  turned  to  tlui 
right  at  a  big,  old  chestnut  tri'c. 

"That  is  not  the  best  way,"  remarked  Tebaldo. 


"til 


M 


'Ml'- 


I-:. 


It  '1. 


IP        .    ' 


.'  1 


'■'  'HlA 

t.1    iWlTSl! 


I-     It 


260 


COIiLEOXE 


^'Kcep  oil  iiiiotlicr  ten  3\'xr(ls  iiiid  tlion  turn  to  the 
left.  TluTc  is  ail  old  bridle  putli  on  the  other  side 
of  the  liuAvtliorn  bushes." 

The  AFoscio  lau^-Jied  .softly. 

"  It  is  a,  [)ity  tliat  you  are  not  with  us,"  he  said. 
"You  know  tlie   paths  better  than   we  do." 

"J  was  born  near  luu'e,''  answered  Tebaldo. 
"  I  have  known  these  woods  since  I  was  a  boy." 

'\\  wisli  1  had!  1  sometimes  lose  my  way  in 
this  ])art  of  Sicily." 

The  ]);ith  b(\!^Mn  exactly  where  Tebaldo  had  said 
that  it  did,  the  entrance  bein<^'  hidden  by  haw- 
thorn and  blackbiu'ry  bushes.  He  went  on  a  few 
steps,  doubled  behind  tlic!  brambles,  and  led  the 
^[oscio  alou'^  a  much  better  way  than  the  outlaws 
had  discovered  for  themselves.  The  outlaw  appre- 
ciatcMl  th(^  advantage,  and  reflected  that  Tel)al(lo 
could  help  the  l)and  in  a  thousand  ways  if  he 
chose.  Without  passing  by  the  s])ring,  tliey  sud- 
denly found  thenis(dves  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 
Th<'  jiath  stoppe(i  abruj)tly  against  the  back  of  one 
of  the  woiuh'U  huts,  having  formerly  crossed  th(; 
summit  at  this  point. 

"  Let  me  go  first,"  said  the  IMoscio,  and  he 
]t;issed  Tebahh*  and  his  horse  and  went  ro""id  the 
corner  of  what  was  really  little  more  than  a  shed, 
roughly  eiudosed  with  half-rotten  planks. 

Various  exclam:d,ioiis  of  surprise  greeted  their 
ap[)eara.nce  from  an  unex[)ccted  (piarter. 


CO  H  L  FA)  SE 


2(U 


"()ur  friend,  Don  TelKildn  Pagliuca,"  said  tlu' 
INIoscio,  addivssing-  ;i  imiiihi'r  of  lurii  wlio  \\\'\-v 
sitting  and  lyin;,;-  aL(  at  on  tlu'  dry  ground.  ••Ih- 
knows  tlu'  woods  Ix'ttcr  than  we,  and  lias  shown 
me  II  new  path  from  the  big  (diestnut  tree." 

"He  is  welcome,"  said  ^laiiro,  in  a  (hill  and 
mutHed  voice,  but  with  some  cordiality. 

Ho  and  most  of  tlu'  others  rose  and  greeted 
Tebaldo  warmly.  Sonu'  liad  known  him  already, 
ai^l  almost  all  had  known  Ferdinando  wtdl. 

They  were  a  stamge  looking  set  of  nu'U.  ]\Iost 
of  them  wore  well  dressed,  and  so  far  as  their 
(dothes  were  eoacernod  miglit  have  been  taken  for 
a  ]>arty  of  southern  country  gentlemen  and  i'i(di 
young  farmers,  cani[»ing  during  a  day's  shooting. 
]\Iauro,  wlio  was  by  far  th(^  oldest,  might  have 
been  seven  or  eight  and  tliirty  years  of  age,  but 
not  more,  and  most  of  tlie  others  were  evi(h'ntly 
under  thirtv.  Tliey  were  all  sti'ong  looking,  witii 
the  toughiuied  ai)[)earance  of  men  accustomed  to 
live  in  the  o[)en  air  and  to  take  exertion  as  a 
matter  of  course.  The  Moscio  alone  liad  ]>re- 
served  his  marv(dlons,  cliild-like  freshness  (A'  com- 
plexion. The  '  j\r()S(do '  .neans  the'  soft,'  Iteing 
similar  to  our  Englisli  word  'nmsli,'  and  tlic 
youth's  looks  accounted  for  the  name,  wliile  liis 
remarkable  sti'engtli  and  utter  fearlessness  con- 
trusted  ratlier  comically  with  the  epitliet. 

The  peculiarities  in  the  apjiearance  of  his  com- 


262 


CORLEONE 


fit 


pan  ions  were  eliiefly  in  their  faces  and  expressions. 
jNFost  of  them  had  the  oddly  sinister,  uneliani^ang 
sniih'  with  sonietliinj^^  eonti'niptuous  in  it  wliich  so 
often  eharaeterizt'S  adv(Miturers.  both  within  the 
pah'  of  society  and  beyond  its  bounds.  Such  men 
(\o  not  huigh  easily.  In  their  eyes,  too,  tlicre  was 
the  look  one  sees  in  those  of  some  lied  Indians 
and  of  dangerous  wild  animals  aware  of  pursuit 
ami  always  inidined  to  turn  at  bay  rather  than 
escape.  Tebaldo  ftdt,  rather  than  saw,  the  glances 
that  were  turned  upon  him  as  he  stood  in  their 
midst,  still  holding  his  horse  by  the  Ijridle. 

]\Iauro  hims(dt'  was  dark,  clean  shaven,  close 
cropped,  and  already  i)ald  on  the  top  of  his  head. 
He  had  often  disguised  himself  successfully  as  a 
priest,  for  he  had  l)een  educated  in  a  seminary, 
liad  turned  atheist,  had  been  a  journalist,  and  had 
finally  got  into  ti'oul)le  b\-  shooting  his  editor  in 
consecpienee  of  a  quarrid  wliicli  had  apparently 
begun  about  a  (piestion  of  grammar,  but  had  in 
reality  l)een  connected  with  ])olitics,  so  that  the 
deed  had  betui  I'cgarded  as  an  act  of  justices  and 
patriotism  by  the  malia.  There  had  been  i  reward 
of  twenty  thousand  francs  on  jNIauro's  head,  dead 
or  alive,  for  several  years,  and  photogra])hs  of  the 
famous  brigand  were  sold  everyv.'lu're  in  Palermo, 
Messina,  and  (,'atania,  but  there  was  not  a  cara- 
bineer in  the  island  wlio  could  boast  of  having 
seen  the  man  liimstdf.     Jle  was  taciturn  and  reti- 


con LEONE 


2r,3 


cent,  too,  tliouj^li  lio  ooiild  ])p  Huciit  cnoiioli  when 
lie  pleased  ;  and  altli(m,L;-h  lie  put  a  i;old  piece  into 
his  ])urse  for  everyone  he  killed,  ;is  the  MdScio 
had  said,  he  eouhl  never  he  inductMl  to  ttdl  how 
many  there  were  in  the  little  h-athcrii  \k\^.  i[e 
never  did  anythin*,'  unnecessarily,  iiut  was  eapa- 
ble  of  the  most  Idood-eurdliuL;-  crueltv  when  anv 
end  was  to  be  gained,  and  was  mei-ciless  to  ie. lorm- 
ers  Avhen  they  fell  into  his  hands,  not  cxactlv 
out  of  a  love  for  inflicting  pain,  hut  in  order  to 
ins[)ire  a  salutary  terr(>r.  lie  w;is  extrciiitdy  tem- 
perate in  his  habits  and  simjde  in  his  clothes, 
though  his  weai^ons  were  always  of  the  hcst  an,l  of 
the  newest  device,  and  he  had  a  hirge  account  with 
the  leading  baidv  of  l*ah'rnio.  He  intended  to 
emigrate,  he  said,  when  he  should  be  i-ich  cnctugh, 
but  those  who  kiu'W  him  did  not  believe  that  he 
could  be  satisfied  to  settle  (l(»wn  as  a  well-to-do 
proi)rietor  in  the  Argentine  IJcpublic.  The  Moscio 
alwavs  said  that  Mauro  would  vet  repent  of  his 
ways,  enter  a  monastery,  mortify  tli<'  Hesli,  and  die 
in  the  odour  of  sanctity.  Whereat  ^lauro  genei-ally 
nodded  thoughtfull}',  as  though  he  liinis(di'  I'cgarded 
such  a  termination  to  his  career  as  (piite  witiiin  the 
bounds  of  ])ossibility. 

As  for  the  rest  (d'  the  baud,  none  of  tlicni  wei-e 
in  any  way  o  riMuarkable  as  their  leader.  The 
man  known  as  Leoncino  was  l)(dieved  to  he  a.  son 
of  the   famous   Leone,  and  boasted  of  it.      He  had. 


2(U 


cohleom: 


If-  '; 


ill 


stiibbt'd  11  rival  in  a  villago  love  affair,  alter  having- 
])et'n  brought  U}>  rather  mysteriously  in  thi;  house 
of  a  rich  farmer.  Schiantaceei  was  undouljtedly 
a  gentleman  by  birth,  a  sad  }oung  fellow,  witli  a 
drooping  ])r()wn  moustache,  iiery  eyes,  and  a  very 
sweet  v,)i.'e  in  wh.ieh  lie  often  sang  softly  on  a 
summer's  evening  when  it  Avas  not  ilangerous  to 
make  a  noise  in  the  cam}).  Xo  one  knew  his  real 
name.  In  a  tight  he  always  b(diaved  as  though  he 
wished  to  be  killed,  which  is  generally  the  surest 
way  of  killing  others. 

Among  the  rest  there  wei'o  nuMi  of  all  classes. 
There  was  a  man  who  had  Ikhmi  mayor  of  his  vil- 
lage, thert^  was  a  butcher,  tlun-e  were  three  or  four 
deserters  from  the  army,  who  luul  each  killed  a 
comrade,  and  one  who  had  attacked  his  lieut<Miant 
but  had  not  killed  liim.  Tliere  was  a  chemist's 
ai)|»rciil  ice  who  had  jtoisoncd  his  inaslei-,  and  an 
actoi"  who  had  stranglcil  his  manager's  wib'  in  a 
love  ([iiarrcl.  'I'hcic  were  also  two  anar<diists  who 
had  escaped  imprisonment  uiuh'r  ('ris[)i's  rule. 
I>ut  there  was  not  one  in  the  nuinber  who  had 
done  h'ss  than  two  mui'dei's  at  the  time  when 
Tebalilo   went  up   to  the  camj). 

One  (»!'  theoullaws  led  his  horse  av/ay,  and  he 
sat  down  by  Mauro  a  Tilth'  apart  IVom  the  rest. 
In  'he  niiddh'  of  the  npeii  space  a  lii'c  was  burning 
(h»wn  lo  a  Ited  (d  c(i;ils.  It  had  been  very  cari'- 
I'ullv   biiih    and   sh>wl\    i'eil    so  as    lo    produce    th(^ 


COIiLEOSl-: 


205 


siuiillcst  |)Ossil)l«'  aiuouut  of  siikjUc.  A  wcll- 
(•leaiu'd  gridii'oii  was  stiu'k  upright  in  the  cartli 
])y  the  liaudK",  and  at  tlic  t'litraucc  to  one  of  the 
huts  the  mail  who  was  a,  l)ut(*lnM-  was  cutting'  a 
Imgo  [)io(H'  of  fresh  meat  into  steaks. 

After  tlie  first  i^reetinn's,  the  men  rehijtscd  into 
sih'iiee,  and  paid  litth'  attention  t(t  Tehaldo. 
iMauro  talked  witli  him  in  h»\v  tones,  'i'lie  chief 
seemed,  iiuh'ed,  unahh^  to  speak  h)U(L  1  Le  asked 
many  ([uestions  abont  tlie  Saracinesca.  iuit  he 
woidd  iiave  eonsi(h'red  it  a,  breach  of  civility  to 
refer  to  the  truth  about  I''rancesco"s  death. 

"I'lu^se  Saracinesca  are  naturally  antipath«'tic 
to  you,"  he  observed,  "and  I  (hiresa\  \  on  would 
not  be  so'-iy  if  one  of  them  [tut  his  eai's  in  pawn  at 
my  Itank." 

"'I'hey  are  a  powerful  ''>:Mily,"  answered  Te- 
Italdo,  eantiouslv.  "Ifc-ii  -a  ihem  were  taken  liy 
you,  thi'i'c  would  be  reinforcements  of  caraliineers 
throun'liont  Sicily."' 

"These  carahineei  ai'c  iiiuch  like  flies,'"  said 
Maui'o,  thon<j:htfnlly.  *''IMi«y  come  in  swaians, 
they  l)U/.z,  ami  they  flyaway  a,Ljaiii.  leavin.i;  noliody 
much  the  worse.  it  means  a  little  more  caution 
for  a  month  (tr  two.  'IMiat  is  all.  I»ut  the  Sara- 
cinesca would  pay  a  L;()od  s\im  lo  keep  iheyouiiL;' 
lieir's  nose  on  ids  face,  and  Siiu  (Jiaeinto  would 
probably  write  a.  (die  pie  ,it  m\  dictation  l»etoi'e  lie 
were  half  roasteil." 


i  \ 


f 

^Ij! 

ill 

2m 


COliLEOSl': 


He  s])()k<'  (|iii('tly  ;ui(l  in  :i  reflective  ti)iio. 

"For  my  i»;irt,''  rejdied  'I'el)al(l(),  "I  wish  them 
no  f^oixl.  as  you  may  imaL,niie.  Uut  tiie  younger 
Saraeiufsea  is  in  IJome.  San  (Jiaeinto  came  hack 
hist  ni.L;lit.  it  is  truo,  hut  lie  is  sale  at  Camahloli." 

"S;it\'  i<  a.  nlative  t«'rm  when  we  .are  in  the 
neinhhourliood,*'  remarked  Ma,uro.     "  Kspeeially  if 


von  will  nave  us  \<iur  a,ssistan(U',"  he  added. 


On 


the   whole,  it   would    he    autre   convenient   to   take 
San  ( Jiaeinto.      1I( could   wi-itc   the  (die([ue,    and  [ 


could  cash  it  almost  lud'oi-e  there  were  any  alai'm, 
lioldinij;  him  until  w<'  j^ot  the  money.  11  we  took 
tlu'  youui;-  one.  w»'  should  have  to  communicate  with 
the    family.      That   is   always   disa;^reeahle." 

*'  \'ou  miL;ht.  have  dilliculty  in  cashing,'  the 
ehe([ue, "    su,i(<4'ested    Tidtahlo. 

"None  whatever,"  icplird  .Mauro.  *•  \'ou  are 
(|uit.'  mistaki'ii.  'I'hat  is  always  easy,  though  oi 
course  money  in  cash  is  |ir(d'erahle.  A  cash  trims- 
art  iou  is  always  better,  as  a  mere  matter  of 
husiuess." 

'i'ehaldo  Iiad  not  hy  any  nu-ans  anticipated  that 
he  was  lo  ix'  called  in  as  an  ally  in  such  an  aliair, 
and  did  not  like  the  prospect  \\i  all.  lie  promised 
himstdr  tiiiil  he  woulil  return  lo  Home  as  soon  as 
possilde.  I'or  the  jU'e.Ncut  he  put^  aside  the  ex- 
tremely complicated  position  in  which  he  was 
placed  ity  hasinn  ,L;i\eu  I  wo  prouli^. cs  (d'  mari'ia,L;e. 
lie   nd',   uncomlorlahh',  too.  aiiilcliill\.      lie  shiv- 


COliLEOXK 


2r,7 


orod  11  littlt',  :iii(l  Mauro  noticed  it.  and  <'allrd  for  a 
cup  oi"  wine.  Telnildo  swallowed  it  eagerly  and 
felt  better. 

"It  will  !)('  necessary  for  you  to  help  us,"  said 


n. 


Mauro,  j)resently,  and  in  a  tone  of  (piiet  decisio 
"Xoone  knows  tini  land  about  C^unaldoli  as  w(dl 
as  you  do,  and  tlu;  approacdies  to  the  house." 


(k 


I  would  rather  not  be  involvi'd  in  the  capture 


>» 


answered  Tebaldo, 

"  I  ;ini  sure  you  \\\\\  not  refuse,"  replied  iSfauro, 
sniilin.!^-  at.  him.  "  It  will  be  a  litt^  turn  for  the 
service  the  Moscio  has  done  you.  .  le  was  veiy 
j^lad  t<t  help  you,  of  course,  hut  you  must  n^t  for- 
<;et  that  you  are»me  of  us.  now,  and  that  we  always 
iiclp  eacli  other  when  we  can.  1  am  sui'c  yoii  wiH 
not  r»d'use." 

Teliahlo  L^-lanced  si(h'ways  at  the  (piiet.  priest- 
fared  man  who  liad  heen  the  terjor  of  Sicily  b)r 
years.  lie  reali/ed  that  the  outlaw  ftad  sjtokeii 
ciw*  truth,  and  that,  he  mi;<ht  at  any  mom»  ni  have 
t<»  trurn  outlaw  himself,  if  the  Hecret  of  th  knife 
wrre  ki!own.  lie  knew  the  hi-i-^ands  and  their 
ways.  Thev  woidd  keep  faitii  with  him,  even  at 
the  i-isk  of  their  own  lives,  hut  he  must  submit  t(» 
theii-  conditions.  They  had  him  in  tJK'ir  ]).>wer, 
and  he  must  help  them  if  they  reipiired  hiui  t(.  do 
so.  If  he  i-(d'used,  iidormatiou  would  h^'  ni  the 
h;inds  (d'  the  caraluneers  in  tw(d\e  hours,  wlii(di 
would   diiv.'   him    into  outlawry,  if    he  rscape.l   at 


Ik     'i 

i, 

1^ 


'ii^% 


2G8 


COliLIJOXE 


iill.  l>iit  if  lie  li('l[>(nl  tlicni,  tlicy  wo'ild  stiincl  hy 
iiim.      II«'  li;ul  iu»t  rorcsct'ii  such  a,  situation. 

"What  is  it  that  y(ju  wish  inc  tu  do'/"  lio 
eiKjuircd  after  a  short  pause. 

"I  will  tell  vou,"  answered  .\rauro.  ''There  are 
now  only  four  earahineers  ([uartered  at  Canialdoli, 
and  as  tliey  ride  on  [iiitrol  duty  lik(^  th(!  rest,  there 
are  never  more  than  two  in  tiie  house  at  a  time. 
'I'here  is  San  (Jiaeinto  hiiusidl",  so  tiuit  tliere  ar(^ 
tiiree  men  to  (h'al  with.  Tiie  rest  of  the  people 
are  Sicilians,  and  will  give  no  troid)le." 

"San  (liacinto  is  ecjual  to  two  or  three  ordinary 
men,"  ol)scrved  Tehaldo. 

"Is  lie".'"  Mauro  s[toke  indifferently.  "One 
man  is  very  like  another,  at  the  end  of  a  i'iM(>  har- 
r(d,"  he  continued,  "and  if  one  pulls  the  tri}i^<;er, 
they  are  all  exactly  alike.  The  |)oint  is  this. 
We  intend  to  surprise  ( 'aiiialdoli  t()-iu(U'row  niL,dit. 
Y'ou  mu-^t  lead  lis  l»y  the  ways  you  know  to  the  low 
r.:ui|tart,  at  t  he  hack,  lieliiud  the  stahles  and  over  the 
liver.  'riit'ic  IS  a  way  u|t  on  that  side,  hut,  we  do 
not  know  it.  W'c  shall  lind  a  ladder  rest  iiii;  a.i^ainst 
the  wall  <Mi  t  hat  side.     A  Jriciid  will  jdace  it   there." 

"Why  do  you  not  «,'et  him  to  show  you  tlui 
way'.* "  a.sk«'d  Tehaldo. 

"lie  lives  iu  the  house,''  jinswercd  Mauro. 
" 'IMie  L^Mtes  arc  shut  at  .\vc  Mai'ia,  and  t,hei'c  is  a 
roll-call  (if  the  servants  and  men.  San  ( J  iacint(t, 
or  wli""'i|.'V('i'  (d    tic  .'^arai'incsca  is  thei-c,  locks  the 


i 


f:  |i 


('OltLEOSE 


269 


One 


giite  liiinsclf  iiiul  keeps  tlio  keys  in  his  own  uctoiii. 
Tliev  all  {••()  to  IxmI  earlv,  and  tin;  house  is  always 
<[uiet  between  midniglit  and  two   o'ehx-k.     There 


( I 


Kf 


is  no  moon  just  now,  and  it  we  can  ^et  round  t 
the  back  without  rousiirj;  the  (hjLjs,  or  attruetin 
attention  in  any  way,  we  can  <_;'et  [)oss«'ssi(tii  ol'  the 
Itlace  in  live  minutes.  'I'iu'  carabineers  sleej)  in  a 
room  on  the  (M)urt.  They  have  to  sleep  sonielimes, 
like  other  peo[)le.  liarid'ootetl  we  sh;ill  make  no 
nois(!  on  tlie  stones.      Leave  tlie  rest  to  us.'' 

"And   liave   they   no    sentinels    at  ni^lit'/"    en- 
(piired  Tebahh).      '"  Do  tliey  i<<'ep  n(»  watcli?" 

"No.  The  liouse  would  l)e  hard  to  enter  with- 
out a,  ladder  \\i  the  v)ne  weak  point,  nnc  would  l)e 
sure  t»>  rouse  everybody  Itelnre  om-  L,^ot  in.  Ihit 
onei'  in  the  court,  we  can  silence  tli<'  two  carabi- 
neers in  ;i  moment,  and  then  we  shall  In-  til'tfcn  to 
om'  at^-ainst  San  (liacintn.  1  would  m>t.  -^'ive  luuch 
b»r  his  sab'ty,  then.  The  main  thiii;^'  is  to  ivmc'u 
the  ladder  (piietly  and  rll  ti.-rth'T.  'Jlic  paths 
are  ditlicult,  there  is  water  in  the  stream  still,  ano 
we  must  know  where  tn  loi'd  it  in  the  daik.  lor  we 
could  m)t  safely  approach  from  tJic  other  side. 
\(n\\'  help  is  alisoluttly  necessary  to  this  enter 
prise.  As  I  said.  1  am  (piite  sure  thai  \.>u  w'^ 
give  it  —  (piite  sure." 

ile  emphasi/.e(l  the  \\\>V  wurds  a  little,  aui*l 
T«'ba.ldo  km"\N  what  he  meant.  There  wa.;  no 
choice. 


is    ! 

(I ! 


270 


COULEOyE 


"  I  will  do  as  you  wisli,''  ho  saiil  reluctiintly.  "  I 
will  coino  here  before  sunset,  and  when  it  is  time 
I  will  lead  you  hy  the  sliortest  way." 

The  Moscio's  eyes  were  watching  him  and  met 
his  own  as  he  looked  up. 


li    . 


S!    I 


mot 


CHAPTER   XXXV 


The  two  carabiiiocrs  who  liad  met  Tdmldo  in 
tlic*  li«'l(]  liad  treated  liiiii  with  the  greatest  ciNilitv. 
hut  wlien  lu!  was  out  of  lieariuj;  tliev  discussed  the 
nitlier  siuyuhir  uleetiIl,L,^  'i'he  more  tliey  thoiin'ht 
of  it,  the  luoro  straiii^e  it  seemed  to  them  that  he 
shouhl  liav(»  been  I'idiu^i;'  aloue,  without  so  much  as 
a  ])oi'tuiauteau,  ])y  way  of  lu,i;\L;'a;4e,  towards  tlie 
iSrauiace  woods,  ;iud  at  sueli  au  liour.  It  uiii>t  he 
r<»m(Uuljer(Ml  tliat  hei'oi-(»  I'raiicesco's  (h'ath.  and 
sinee  l'erdiuan(h)'s,  tlie  autliorities  liad  evci'\  wliere 
heeu  warued  ai^aiust  the  Coideouc  family,  i'l  ilie 
ex[)eetatiou  of  some  out  i'a;^e  a-^aiiist  t  he  Saraciiicsca 
or  tlieir  ])i'oj)erty ;  aud  the  imjii-cssioii  was  uni- 
versal tliat  Ippolito  liad  not  kilh'd  ^^■allce^co,  while 
many  who  had  known  the  brothers  since  tliev  had 
been  wild  boys  at  Camaldoli  believed  that  Teiiahht 
had  done  tlie  deeil,  or  that  he  lia^l  caused  it  to  be 
done,  and  had  (deveidy  niaiia,y:etl  ti>  throw  the  -iiilt 
uoou  the  priest.  The  carabineers  (piartercd  in 
the   ii(d"-;h))ourlioo(l    all    lielie\ed    this   and    sci.iited 

Tebaldo's    story    of    a    r; 'I'liey    had    n<»    more 

opinion    of    the    law's    wisdom    than    the    outlaws 


L'< 


07'> 


(■(HnjjoM-: 


wliDiii  tlu'v  were  rcnitiiiuallv  \\\\\\tiug,  i\\\  ^^ViV 
exiicrit'iicc  li;i(l  shown  tlu'iu  lioW  o;\>s\\v  tl\o  law 
could  ln'  (Ict'catcd  in  a  rouwtvV  whc-t'  the  \vlu»U' 
l)opulation  was  l)aii<l'.Ml  togt'tht'v  to  {\v{\  it. 

'riic  troo[MTs  (lisciisscd  the  (ph^stiou  as  thcv  \\mW 
iloyvH  to  Ivandiz/.o.  'i'hcv  had  seen  wothing  vV'^^^ 
X^'orth  mentioning,  on  their  pat  vol,  and  when  tln^v 
ivported  themselves  to  the  sergeant  at  (piartevs, 
the\  told  him  exactly  what  had  passed.  'Hie  ser- 
geant  was  the  one  who  had  at  tirst  ace()n»])ani(Hl 
the  Saracinesca  to  I'amaldoli.  lie  dismissed  the 
ti'oo])ers  t(»  their  su[>per,  tln>\ight  tlu'  matter  over, 
and  went  to  the  inn  to  tind  the  lieutenant.  The 
Litter  was  playing  (U>minos,  as  usual,  with  the 
(le])uty   prelect.  htd'^.^iV  going  home  to  sup))ev. 

He  was  a  L!it'v-i\aired  man  (d  I'ortv,  i)rematurelv 
Ai^i'd  l>v  hard  service  and  C(Uistant  anxiety,  a  tall, 
spare  n.,urc.  the  peil»M'tion  of  militaiy  neatness  in 
his  dros.  with  a  grave  manner  and  a  rai'c  hut 
kindl\  siiiilr.  For  the  its!,  he  was  hrave.  lioiiour- 
al>h',  and  eneru'c^  I ',  and.  like  the  mm  under  him, 
he  was  not  niu<-ti  nKdincd  t<>  helicvc  in  the  law  on 
its  own  rccnmniendat  i(»n.  lie  was  as  lirmly  per- 
suadi'd  :is  they  that  Tehaldn  was  a  had  character, 
and  h.id  <|ui('tly  wattdied  him  »»n  the  several  occa- 
si<.;i>  tin  which  he  had   latidy  ap[ie;irt'd  at  the  inn. 

Ill-  Went  (Hitsidf  with  the  sergeant  and  listene(l 
%^  Ills  story  attent  i\  ely. 

"The  hrigands  are  in  the    Maniacc   woods,"  he 


i*-  ,■-  j^;  ;■  v 


COliLKOyK 


273 


law 


hoi 


0 


they 
rtrrs. 


SIM" 


I 


inict 


1   tho 


over 


Tlie 
the 


uri'lv 


tall 


'SS    111 

'    l.ut 


noui' 


linn, 


i\v  on 


H'V 


ictt-r 


occa- 


inii. 
ti'iied 


said  at  last.  '"'riK^y  It'it  \oto  sonic  (hivs  jiu^o. 
Uiit  one  niij^-lit:  as  well  ny  to  tiinl  pins  in  ;i 
Hl(»ii«jflH'(l  iit'ld,  (Ui  a  (hirk  nii;ht.  it  wonld  take  at 
least  tive  IninditMl  nii-n  to  heat  the  \vo(m1s  thronuli 
and  siiironnd  tin*  I'l'llows." 

"  A  thousand,  sir/'  siiL^rncstcil  tlic  scri^M'ant,  hy 
way  oi'  connncnt.  "  It  took  a  rct^imcnt  to  catch 
ij(M)ni^  alone,  in  tin-  old  days," 

The  lieutenant  hroke  oil"  the  end  of  a  black  ci,L,^al• 
tlioni^ditinlly,  hut  seemed  to  iori^et  to  lii^ht  it,  hc- 
coniinii:  siiddenlv  ahsorbed  in  his  own  reflexions. 
Thc!  ser,t:^eant  stood  ]>atiently  at  attention. 


Have  we  aiiv  information  this  eveiiin; 


as 


ked 


the  otli(MM'.   siidd(Milv.   as  thoiinh    he   were   lookiii! 


lor  some 


thii 


n'. 


X 


o.  sir 


?> 


Any  arrests  to-day?     Any   snspicdoiis   charac 


ters" 


N 


(t,  sir 


V 


The  lieutenant  seenu'd  dissatisiied,  and  looked  a 
loii;^'  time  at  his  nnli^^hted,  black  cigar,  in  deep 
thonii'ht. 

''Very  well,  (lood  night,  sergeant."  IIenodd(Ml 
and  tnriie(l  away,  but  looked  ronnd  bel'ori'  he  had 
made  two  ste])S.  "Have  !  wo  men  ready  all  night, 
in  case  I  should  need  tlieiii."  he  adih't'.. 

*•  Vf^s.  sir."  The  sergeant  saluted  again,  and 
Went  back  to  Ids  (juartei'S. 

The   ollicer   returned    to   liis    game   of   th)iiiiiios. 

vol  .    U.  — T 


ii!;' 


ii:ii 


274 


COIILEOSE 


Tic  iniidc  oiH'  or  two  niov(\s   iiiul   then   called   tlie 
sci'vant. 

''  Dun  Tcbaldo  Vat;liiic;i  is  stuyini;  in  tlio  lioiisc, 
is  hf  not'.'"  ln'  cmiuin'd.  '"  I'rcscnt  my  conipli- 
incuts  and  ask   if  he  will  not  conn;  down,  and  pliiy 

a  t^Mini'."" 

''The  si.Lcnorc  is  out,  Sigmn*  Lioutonant,"  Jin- 
swcrcd  the  servant. 

"  Indeed'/  1  am  sorn  .  1  suppose  lie  is  stroll- 
ing,' in  the  town.      It  is  cooler  in  the  streets.*' 

"  1  do  not  know.''  tlie  man  replied,  though  he 
knew  very  wtdl  that  Teltaldo  had  tlie  innkeeper's 
horse. 

The  ollieer  nodded,  as  t1iou,i;h  satisfied,  and  went 
(»n  with  iiis  ;^ame.  The  (h'pnty  prelect  looked  at 
him  eii([i;iriii;4ly.  hnt  he  N'oiichsaied  no  infornia- 
lioii.  The  ollicial  repieseidative  of  tlie  ,L;overn- 
ment  was  a  lalher  Inolisli  man,  very  much  al'raid 
(.1  the  Sicilian;  and  ol'  doing  anytliing  to  attract 
the  ill-will  oi'  the  malia. 

The  lieutenant  sat  over  the  game  lat,er  than 
usual.  The  windows  ttl'  the  jtuhlic  room,  whicli 
was  at  once  the  dining-room  and  the  caiV*  cd"  the 
(dean  little  inn.  hiokcd  upon  the  main  stred,  and 
were  open,  I'or  the  air  was  hot.  It  wonld  have  hecii 
impossihle  not,  to  hear  'i'ehaldo's  horse  it'  he  came 
iiacdv.  r»iit,  he  liad  not  come  w  hen  the  ojliccr  wen! 
hoiiic  The  latt <'!•'>  own  Indging  was  also  on  the 
main  street,,  tnwards   the  upper  gate,  and  Teltaldo 


cohi.kom: 


TJ^ 


would  liavc  lo  pass  it  t(.  rcadi  the  iini.  'I'lic  lieu- 
tenant sat  up  vt'i-y  late,  Itnt  still  Tchaldo  did  not 
conn*. 

'•'flicv  Ikivc  citlici'  taken  liim."  n-asoiifd  the 
oilicer.  '"and  in  that  ease  he  will  not  cimie  lue  k  at 
all.  (  h"  else  lie  is  on  L^ood  terms  with  tJiciii  and  is 
sjx'ndiuL,'  the  ni,L;'lit  with  them,  and  will  roturn  in 
the  m()^nin<^^■' 

Ihit  at  seven  o'id(»ek  in  the  nioi'iiiuL,',  htdni^  aliout 
to  show  hims(dt'  at  his  window,  the  lit-ntenant 
heard  the  tread,  of  a  shod  saddle  horse  in  the 
street.  It  was  Tehiihlo.  lookiii;^'  pah'  and  wrarv, 
leaiiint;  a  little  I'orwaid  and  (lan'_;lin'.,'  his  jcct  out 
of  the  stiriai{)S,  as  tliom;h  he  had  i  iddcn  lai-  and 
wishetl  to  I'cst  himstdl'.  11.'  had  vhe  unmi-takahh^ 
look  of  a,  man  wlio  has  worn  his  (dothes  twenty- 
I'oni"  hours,  and  the  soldier's  siiai'p  eyes,  lookiiiL:; 
alter  him  when  he  Iiad  passed  the  wiiiduu.  saw 
litth'  hits  (d'  hrumlih'  and  h'al'  (dinLiiii-_;-  to  his 
coat. 

TIk'  lieutenant  shave(l  hiniself  eai-erully  and 
t  houn'ht  I'nily  and  dresseil  with  liis  nsnal  seru|  nlous 
cai'e.  When  he  had  hinddetl  on  his  ln';i\y  caN-alry 
salii'e.  he  opencil  a  drawer  in  an  ohl  Sicilian  ealniict 
and  took  out,  two  lit  lie  I  >errinL;t'i'  pistids,  examined 
tiieni  tf>  see  that  I  hey  were  properly  hiadeih  and 
slippeil  one  into  eatdi  p<iekel  of  Ids  ti'onseis.  rh(» 
ti;;ht  sw  allow-laih'd  tnnn-  (d'  his  nnirorm  made  it 
inip(tssihle  to  eai'ry  a  revolver  eoiieealeil.     lie  mi,^ht 


I  I 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0    [f:il^  II 
=  ■?  Ill  


I.I 


1.25 


2.5 


1^    1^ 


2.2 


B-    IIIIIM 


1.8 


U    i  1.6 


V] 


o 


c^l 


:V  > 


«=»     1^^      V 
%       c^V 


V 


-^ 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WEBSTIR.N.Y.  MS80 

(716)  873-4503 


y 


V 


6^ 


? 


<:, 


f/u 


^ 


6^ 


W^rf'\ 


If 


276 


(JO  Ji  LEONE 


1 

jMjii;'  'i 

m 

be  going  to  risk  his  life  as  well  as  his  reputation  on 
that  morning. 

When  he  left  nis  lodging,  he  went  first  to  the 
(quarters  of  th3  carabineers  and  gave  the  sergeant 
jin  order.  Then  he  went  straight  to  the  inn,  ajid 
asked  to  he  shown  to  Tebaldo  Paglinea's  room. 
An  hour  )iad  passed  since  the  latter  had  come 
back.  The  servant  looked  up  in  surprise,  for 
though  the  ofiicer  and  Tebaldo  were  on  terms  of 
civilit}',  the  man  knew  that  they  were  not  well 
acquainted.  He  had  to  obey,  liowever,  and  led 
the  way  u[)  one  Hight  of  stairs,  and  knocked  at  a 
door  on  the  landing. 

"Come  in,"  answered  Tebaldo's  voice,  indiffer- 
ently, for  he  sup[)Osed  it  was  the  servant. 

The  othcer  entered  at  oncu',  taking  otf  liis  cap. 

"(iood  morning,  Don  Tebaldo,''  he  said  courte- 
ously, before  the  ofclnu'  could  speidv.  "  Pray  forgive 
my  intrusion,  bitt  could  you  lend  me  your  revolver 
for  a  few  liours?  I  supposes  you  have  one?  My 
only  one  is  out  of  order,  and  I  prefer  to  carry  one 
for  wluit  I  have  to  do.  T  should  bo  extremely 
oblig'ed." 

''Certainly,"  answertMl  Tebaldo,  rather  coldly, 
but  a  good  deal  surprised  by  tlie  rerpiest. 

He  crossed  tlu^  room  and  took  the  weapon  from 
a  table,  witli  its  leatlu'rn  case. 

'"1  shouhl  be  ghid  if  you  could  return  it  by  two 
o'(dock,"  he  said,  "as  1  am  going  away." 


CORLEONE 


tation  on 

st  to  the 

serg-eant 

inn,  and 

's   room. 

ad   come 

rise,    for 

terms   of 

not  well 

and   led 

ked  at  a 

indiffer- 

s  cap. 

courte- 
^  forgive 
revolver 
e?  My 
irry  one 
:tremely 

coldly, 

on  from 

by  two 


'' Certainly/'  replied  the  otiicer,  rpiietly  taking 
the  revolver  out  of  its  case.  ''It  is  loaded,  I  see. 
Thank  you.  :N'ow  ])on  Tebaldo,  Avill  you  kindly 
sit  down  for  a  few  moments?  I  wish  to  speak 
to  you." 

He  held  the  revolver  in  his  right  hand,  and  his 
(luiet  grey  eyes  looked  gravely  at  the  man  lie  liad 
caught.  Tei)aldo  started  at  the  sudden  change  of 
tone,  and  faced  him,  in  renewed  surprise. 

"I  borrowed  your  revolver  in  order  to  speak 
with  you,"  said  the  lieutenant,  ''for  I  have  heard 
that  you  have  a  sudden  and  violent  temper,  liut 
I  wish  to  speak  in  a  (piiet  and  friendly  way.  Shall 
we  sit  down?"  He  took  a  chair  with  his  left 
hand. 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  you,"  answered  Te- 
baldo, with  rising  anger.     "What  do  you  want?" 

'M  will  explain.  I  am  aware  that  you  liave 
spent  the  night  with  the  brigands,  who  are  friends 
of  yours.  You  Avill  either  lead  me  to  them,  or 
you  will  go  to  prison.  L  Itave  a.  couple  of  men 
downstairs,  waiting.     Xow  choose." 

"This  is  outrageous!"  Tebaldo's  voice  rang 
high,  as  lie  s[)rang  forward. 

]5ut  tlie  sight  of  tlie  revolver's  nui/zh^  dose  to 
his  face  stopped  liim,  tliough  his  eyes  bhized  with 
fury. 

"It  is  of  n(^  use  to  bo  angry,"  said  tlie  oflic(M*, 
who  was  porfccLly  cool.     "Choose,  if  you  please." 


111! 


278 


CORLEONE 


f 


'•It  is  outrageous!  You  cannot  prove  anything 
against  nie  I  " 

"  Ton  are  mistaken,"  answered  tlie  other,  boldly. 
"I  can  [)r()ve  many  things." 

"A\'hat'.'  Wliat  can  you  prove?" 
■  "■  I  do  not  intend  to  provide  you  Avitli  the  means 
of  defending  your  case  by  telling  you  wliat  T  know, 
liufc  J  giv'c  you  your  choice.  1  have  full  power  to 
do  so.  Lead  me  and  my  nuni  to  a  })lace  where  we 
can  catcli  ]Mauro,  and  J  give  you  my  word  of 
honour  that  no  accusation  shall  be  brought  against 
you.  Jlefuse  to  do  so,  and  I  give  you  my  word 
that  you  Avill  be  handcuffed  in  live  minutes  and 
taken  to  ^Messina  this  afternoon.  You  know,  of 
course,  tliat  com])licity  with  a  band  of  outlaws 
entails  penal  servitude." 

lie  saw  plainly  enough  that  he  had  not  risked 
his  re[)ntati(jn  for  notliing.  Tebaldo  was  brave 
still,  though  he  was  unstrung  and  broken,  but  his 
face  now  showed  the  perplexity  he  could  only  feel 
if  h(^  W(U'e  really  in  tlie  situation  the  oflicer  had 
pre])ared  for  him. 

"  1  (h'liy  the  whole  charge,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment's  thougld..  "This  is  an  outrage'  for  which 
you  will  have  to  answer.  ])e  good  eiunigh  to  stop 
threatening  me,  and  leave  my  room." 

Th(^  lieutiuia.nt  drew  a.  nickel  whistle  from  the 
bosom  of  liis  tiniic  with  his  left  hand. 

"if  J   wliistle  for  my  troopers,"  he  said,  ''you 


COllLFOXE 


270 


£3 


any  tb  ill 
'V,  boldly. 


;bo  means 
t  I  know. 

power  to 
wliere  we 

word  of 
t  against 
my  word 
ntes  and 
know,   of 

ontlaws 

)t  risked 
IS  brave 
,  but  bis 
Jiily  feel 
ieer  Iiad 

after  a 

)r  wliich 

to  stop 

rom  tlie 

I,  ''you 


will  be  in  liandcuffs  in  five  minutes.  I  will  count 
twenty  wliile  you  make  your  elioiee.  Oiu',  two, 
tliree  —  "  and  be  continued  to  count. 

Tebaldo  grew  pale  by  rjuick  degrees,  as  be  lis- 
tened, and  bis  beart  beat  violently  witli  (\\citcnient. 
Tbe  officer  readied  twenty  in  bis  comiting,  and 
raised  tbe  big  wbistlc  to  bis  lips. 

"Stop!''  exclaimed  Tebaldo,  bardly  able  to 
speak. 

"Well?"  asked  tbe  omcer,  bolding  tbe  wbistle 
ready  near  bis  moutli. 

"You  give  im^  your  word  of  bonour  tliat  no 
accusation  Avbatever  sliall  be  brougbt  against 
me?" 

"Xone  on  tbe  ground  of  complicity  witb  tbe 
brigands,"  answered  tbe  lieutenant.  '' L  give  j^ou 
my  word  as  an  officer." 

"Tbere  is  no  otber  to  bring."  Tebaldo  was 
wbite. 

"Xone  tbat  con/'erns  nu^,"  r(^[died  tbe  otber, 
coolly.  "Tbere  is  a  good  deal  of  diversity  of 
opinion  about  your  brotber's  deatb,  as  you  must 
know." 

"Tbis  is  an  insult  —  " 

"Ob,  no!  I  do  not  accuse^  you  at  all.  1  only 
wish  to  limit  my  own  pi'oniise  to  tbe  matter  in 
band.  \  bave  done  so,  imd  L  understand  tbat  ycni 
agr(M',  do  you  not?" 

''JJy    force,    for    i    suppose    I    must,"    replied 


280 


CORLKONE 


II' 


1if 


Tebaldo,  in  a  sullen  tone.  "You  must  further 
engage  to  protect  nie  from  the  mafia,  when  you 
have  caught  the  fellows,"  he  added. 

"  You  shall  have  an  escort  wherever  you  go  and 
as  long  as  you  please  to  remain  in  the  country." 

"That  will  not  be  long,"  said  Tebaldo,  almost  to 
himself. 

"  So  much  the  blotter.  And  now,  if  you  please, 
at  what  time  shall  we  start  this  eveninu'? " 

Tebaldo  inwardly  cursed  himself  for  having 
trusted  the  ^loscio  in  the  first  instance,  but  he 
quickly  reflected  that  he  might  still  improve  his 
position  in  the  eyes  of  the  officer  and  thereby,  per- 
haps, have  less  to  fear  in  the  future. 

"Look  here,  lieutenant,"  he  said,  changing  his 
tone  and  sitting  down.  "1  have  been  forced  into 
this,  from  first  to  last.  I  was  riding  by  my stdf  yester- 
day afternoon,  in  the  country  1  know  so  well,  and  i 
had  not  the  slightest  idea  that  the  outlaws  were  in 
the  neighbourhood.  1  met  a  cou[)le  of  your  men, 
who  at  first  took  me  for  one  of  the  brigands  my- 
self, and  tlien  recognized  me  and  a,pologized,  tell- 
ing m(^  that  the  band  was  in  tlie  neighbourhood. 
TMiey  r.xhi  off,  and  I  took  Ji  short  cut  through 
tlie  woods.  I  came  u[)on  the  encampment  unex- 
v'M.'tedly." 

The  officer  listi^ned  iittentively  and  gravely. 
Tel)aldo  [)rocei'iled. 

"In   former  years,  (wen  a  year  ago,   when  wo 


i 

I 

COliLEUXK 


281 


further 
en  you 

go  and 

ry." 
nost  to 

please, 

HI 

liaviug 
but  lie 
•ve  Lis 
y,  pei- 

ng  Ills 
d  into 
yester- 
and  i 
ere  in 
•  men, 
Is  niy- 
1,  tell- 
'liood. 
rough 
unex- 

ively. 

n  "\ve 


lived  at  Canialdoli  before  selling  tlie  place,  we 
were  obliged,  as  a  matter  of  personal  safety,  to 
put  up  witli  a  great  deal  from  these  men,  and 
if  we  had  informed  against  them,  we  should 
have  been  murdered.  That  is  liow  it  liappened 
that  my  brother  Ferdinando  knew  some  of  them. 
You  know  the  conditions  of  the  country  as  Avell 
as  I  do." 

"I  wish  I  did!  "  exclaimed  tlie  soldier,  devoutly. 

"You  know  them  well  enough,  at  all  (n-cnts. 
Poor  gentlefolk,  as  we  were  then,  cannot  always 
help  themselves.  Yesterday  afternoon  I  found 
myself  suddenly  surrounded  by  the  whole  band. 
There  are  hfteen  of  them.  One  of  them  recou'nized 
me,  and  a  long  discussion  began.  They  wisli  to 
get  into  Canialdoli  to-night  and  carry  off  the  Mar- 
chese  di  San  Giacinto." 

"Fifteen  armed  men  might  do  it,"  observed  the 
officer.  "  There  are  only  two  troopers  thei'e  at 
night." 

"Yes.  But  the  brio^ands  do  not  know  the  way 
to  the  weak  point  at  the  back.     I  will  ex[)lain." 

Tebaldo  told  the  wliole  trutli  now,  for  lie  saw 
that  Jiis  best  chance  of  safety  lay  in  that  direction. 
Then  he  pro(;eeded  to  exculpate  himself. 

"Tliey  also  gave  me  my  clioii^e,  something  in 
your  manner,"  lie  went  on.  "'I'liey  offere(l,  In' 
way  of  altermitive,  to  roast  nie  alive,  if  L  refused 
to  show  them  the   way  to-night,  and  they  assured 


\  I 


liii- 


282 


con LEO XE 


Mm 


me  of  wliat  I  kiu'w  perfectly  well,  namely,  that  if 
I  (lid  iKjt  kee])  tlie  appointment  they  could  nuirder 
me  wherever  I  might  be.  This  was  because  I 
insisted  on  coming  here  again  before  to-night. 
It  was  not  easy,  but  they  yielded  at  last.  How- 
ever, it  was  very  late  ])y  the  time  Ave  had  come  to 
an  agreement,  and  I  could  not  have  got  back  to 
Eandazzo.  for  there  was  no  moon,  and  the  woods 
are  dark  [ind  full  of  pitfalls.  I  got  back  this 
morning,  and  intended  to  go  down  to  Messina  and 
catc]i  the  train  at  lleggio  to-night,  and  take  my 
chance  of  safety  in  Home.  They  never  could  get 
up  to  the  b[i(;k  of  Canuildoli  vvithout  me.  There 
you  have  the  Avhole  story  in  a  nutshell." 

"I  see/'  answered  the  officer,  who  only  believed 
half  of  the  |)lausible  story.  "You  were  in  a  most 
ditHeult  ])osition.  But  it  is  now  in  3'our  power  to 
do  the  country  a  szreat  service.  All  that  is  neces- 
sary is  that  you  should  lead  the  band  to  the  foot  of 
th(!  wall,  as  you  promised.  I  will  take  care  of  the 
rest.  In  tlie  woods  it  is  impossible  to  catch  them. 
P)Ut  it  is  important  that  we  sliould  recognize  you, 
in  order  not  to  kill  you  by  mistake  if  there  is  any 
ligliting,  as  there  probably  will  be,  though  I  hope 
to  take  most  of  them  aJive.  The  wisest  thing 
would  be  that  vou  sliould  be  the  first  to  mount  the 
ladder,  by  agreement,  on  th(^  ground  that  you  can 
hnid  them  inside,  whereas  tliey  might  lose  their 
way." 


CO  II  LEONE 


283 


that  if 
murder 
iause  I 
'-night. 
IIow- 
ome  to 
)ack  to 

woods 
k  this 
la  and 
Ive  my 
d([  get 

There 

dieved 
X  most 
wer  to 
iieces- 
Poot  of 
of  the 
tliem. 
G  you, 
is  any 

liope 

thing 

it  the 

>u  ean 

tiieir 


"Yes  —  that  is  best.  It  is  a  vevv  ('oiui)licated 
place,  like  a  Lahyrintli,  between  the  rampart  and 
the  court." 

"You  will  pardon  me  for  reverting  to  the  condi- 
tions," said  the  lieutenant,  suavely.  '  You  rt^ilize, 
'^f  course,  that  in  case  you  should  not  wish  to  carry 
out  your  part  of  them,  you  are  always  in  tlu^  power 
of  the  law,  unless  you  turn  outlaw  yourself,  which, 
in  your  position,  you  would  hardly  like  to  do." 

"I  understand  my  position  })erfectly, "  answered 
Tebaldo,  coldly.  "I  shall  lead  tlie  band  to  the 
foot  of  the  ladder  at  about  one  o'clock,  I  fancy." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  officer.  "I  am  much 
obliged  for  the  loan  of  your  revolver,  which  T 
return  to  you,  as  you  may  need  it  tlus  evening." 

He  laid  it  on  tlie  table,  bowed  civilly,  aiul  went 
out,  leaving  the  betrayer  to  his  own  reflexions. 


CHArxEK  xxxyi 


Teualdo  would  have  given  half  his  life  and  all 
his  soul  to  undo  the  work  of  the  past  twenty-four 
hours.  l>ut  it  was  now  absolutely  imi)ossil.)le  for 
him  to  draw  back.  His  only  chance  of  future 
safety  lay  in  serving  the  government,  though  he 
did  not  like  to  think  what  his  fate  might  be  if  he 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  any  friend  of  the  out- 
laws after  betraying  them.  Yet,  short  of  joining 
them  outright,  he  could  not  possibly  escape  arrest 
if  he  did  not  carry  out  the  conditions  of  liis  agree- 
ment with  the  lieutenant;  and,  if  once  arrested, 
the  latter  would  only  need  to  tell  exactly  what  had 
happened  in  order  to  convict  him  of  conijdicity 
with  brigands  a,nd  send  him  to  penal  servitude. 
He  was  literally  caught  in  a  vise  and  could  not 
move  without  ruining  himself. 

It  was  earlv  in  the  afternoon  when  he  set  out 
to  ride  to  the  jNTaniace  woods  again.  In  spite  of 
everything,  he  had  been  to  Basili's  house  and  had 
seen  Aliandra  again.  Though  what  he  was  going 
to   do  was   not   noble,    it  was   dangerous,   and  the 

sight  of  the  woman  he  loved  cheered  him  in  his 

284 


('ORLEONE 


285 


need.  He  looked  ill,  and  said  tluit  he  had  a  toncli 
of  tlie  fever,  and  Ali.iiidi'a  believed  him,  and  was 
very  kind  find  gentle  witli  him.  He  was  rejilly 
too  naturally  eourageous,  with  all  his  hideous 
faults,  not  to  enjoy  the  passing  monuMit  to  the 
full.  Tlis  marriage  with  ]\Iiss  Slayl^aek  looked 
less  and  less  possible,  as  Aliandra's  influence 
gained  the  ascendant,  and  he  formally  bound  him- 
self to  marry  the  Sicilian  girl. 

It  was  like  a  pleasant  dream  between  two  spells 
of  torture,  and  as  he  rode  up  towards  the  woods  it 
faded  again  into  an  improl)ability,  and  the  ugly 
present  truth  rose  in  its  place.  ]']ven  to  him,  the 
idea  of  such  a  deliberate  betrayal  as  he  contem- 
plated was  revolting.  He  was  iTir  too  much  a 
Sicilian  to  think  otherwise.  Apart  from  any 
apprehension  for  liis  own  subsequent  safety,  he 
honestly  detested  the  thought  of  leading  men  who 
trusted  him  to  certain  destruction,  no  matter  how 
bad  they  might  be.  Even  the  fact  that  they  had 
forced  liim  to  be  their  guide,  against  his  will,  had 
little  weight.  He  knew  instinctively  tliat  if  there 
were  any  worldly  honour  concerned  in  so  dishon- 
ourable a  matter,  it  should  have  bidden  him  either 
refuse  to  serve  the  law  and  let  the  law  do  its  worst 
against  him,  or  turn  outlaw  and  warn  the  band 
that  they  were  in  danger.  Ten  days  earlier  he 
niii>:ht  have  had  the  boldness  tc  do  either  the  one 
or  the  other,  but  he  lacked  it  now.     His  charac- 


>^ 


286 


con LEONE 


t<'r  was  iiioiiHMitarily  and  pevliaps  ix'rnianeiitly 
broken,  and  tliongh  he  still  lia.d  tlio  pliysiral  cour- 
age to  face  violent  daiigor,  he  grasi)ed  fit  any  means 
of  returning  to  a  peaceful  existence,  like  the  veriest 
coward. 

All  thi'ouijfli  the  lone?  ride  in  the  desolate  lands 
and  tlie  loncdy  forest,  and  throughout  tlie  evening 
that  followed,  his  mind  laboured  painfully  against 
the  secret  and  overwhelming  shame  of  what  he 
meant  to  do,  and  as  he  sat  resting  among  the  out- 
laws he  hardly  spoke,  except  in  answer  to  a  ques- 
tion from  Mauro  or  tlie  Moscio,  and  made  a  bare 
pretence  of  eating  a  little  for  the  sake  of  appear- 
ances. Again  and  again  he  felt  impelled  to  open 
his  lips  and  warn  his  companions  of  their  danger, 
and  once  his  resolution  almost  brok(^  down.  But 
as  he  glanc(Ml  at  ^NFauro's  quietly  su})erior  smile,  a 
sort  of  sullen  resentment  got  hold  of  him  against 
the  man  who  had  forced  him  into  his  present  posi- 
tion, and  he  held  his  peace.  Once  or  twice  he 
thought  of  the  knife  which  the  Moscio  had  in  his 
pocket,  but  he  knew  that  a  brigand's  evidence 
would  be  worth  nothing  in  law,  and  would  be 
regarded  as  a  mere  attempt  at  vengeance  for  hav- 
ing been  betrayed.  It  had  been  very  different  so 
long  as  the  knife  had  lain  under  the  altar,  where 
anyone  might  find  it.  There  Avere  hundreds  of 
knives  like  this  one  in  Italy,  and  there  could  be 
nothing  surprising  in  the  fact  that  one  belonging 


mi'. 


CORLKOXE 


287 


to  a  brigand  shoulfl  Ix'  vusty  with  blood.  The 
bare  assertion  of  tlie  AEoscio  would  not  be  worth 
much. 

It  was  ^Mauro's  intention  to  kill  the  carabineers 
in  their  sle(>p,  if  })0ssil)le,  to  l)ind  and  ,l;';i^'  San 
Giaeinto  and  get  hiin  out  through  the  postern  gate, 
and  to  bind  in  the  same  way  all  the  Sicilian  ser- 
vants in  the  house,  so  that  they  eould  ncitlier  free 
themselves  nor  make  a  noise.  Th(\y  would  them- 
selves prefer  this,  and  would  submit  patiently,  as 
they  generall}^  did  in  such  affairs,  because  if 
thev  were  not  made  fast  tliev  would  afterwards  l)e 
blamed  for  not  immediately  giving  an  alarm, 
whereas  if  they  roused  the  village  they  would 
ex})ose  themselves  to  ]\rauro's  vengeance  as  in- 
formers. It  must  be  admitted  that  the  position  of 
the  servants  was  not  precisely  enviabh^ 

The  postern  of  Camaldoli  would  then  l)e  locked 
again  bv  means  of  the  kevs  found  in  San  Giacinto's 
room,  and  the  keys  would  be  thrown  into  the  riv(u'. 
San  Giaeinto,  bound  on  a  horse,  would  be  conve\'ed 
to  a  safe  hiding-place  before  morning,  and  all 
would  be  over.  The  brigands  would  be  nuiny 
miles  away  by  that  time,  scattering  ov(>r  tlie 
country  as  thev  usuallv  did,  Avhile  three  or  four  of 
the  strongest  and  most  desi)erate  remained  with 
Mauro  to  guard  San  Giaeinto  until  he  should  see 
fit  to  ransom  himself  by  writing  a  ch(^(iue.  It  was 
all  very  well  planned.     Tebaldo  was   instructed  to 


288 


COBLEONE 


% 


disappear  from  the  scene  as  soon  as  he  had  led  the 
band  to  the  foot       the  wall. 

*'I  had  better  go  up  the  ladder  "first,"  he  sug- 
gested. ''You  will  lose  your  way  in  the  narrow 
passages  between  the  rampart  and  the  stables. 
The  place  is  like  a  labyrinth  on  that  side." 

"Of  course,"  said  ^Fauro,  "  if  you  will  help  us 
furtlier,  we  shall  be  greatly  obliged,  but  that  was 
not  in  the  agreement,  so  I  did  not  venture  to 
hope  —  "     He  stoj^ped,  smiling  politely. 

"It  v/ill  be  better  that  I  lead  you  into  the 
court,"  answered  Tebaldo.  "If  the  carabineers 
are  lodged  there,  as  you  say,  they  can  only  be  in 
one  room,  for  there  is  only  one  tliat  would  be  at 
all  suitable.  It  has  a  very  small  window,  and  in 
this  weather  they  will  leave  the  door  open  for 
coolness." 

The  niglit  was  clear,  but  tliere  was  no  moon. 
Under  tlie  trees  it  was  very  dark,  but  the  starlight 
made  earh  opening  and  ch^aring  faintly  visible 
ahead,  l)etween  the  stems,  as  Tebaldo  led  the  way 
down  the  hill,  with  the  unerring  certainty  of  a 
trui  j^.cith-tinder.  Again  and  again  IMauro,  who 
followed  liim  closely,  thought  that  lie  was  taking 
a  wrong  turning,  but  Te])aldo  never  made  a  mis- 
take as  he  swiftly  and  surely  walked  along,  giving 
warning  of  anv  slight  obstaide  in  n  low  monoto- 
nous  voice,  and  now  and  then  turning  his  head  a 
little  to  listen  for  tliose  behind. 


con LEONE 


289 


They  led  six  horses  among  thoni,  TelKildo's  and 
five  others,  of  whicli  one  was  for  San  (xiacinto, 
one  for  ^lauro  hinistdf,  and  three  others  for  the 
Moscio,  Leoncino,  and  S-diiantaeeci.  The  I'emain- 
ing  outhiws  were  to  retnrn  at  once  to  tlie  lints  in 
the  woods  and  get  their  horses  there. 

It  was  ch.aracteristie  of  ^Fanro  and  his  conijian- 
ions  that  the}-  trnsted  Tehahlo's  knowledge  of  the 
conntry,  and  followed  him  blindly  after  he  liad  hd't 
the  paths  familiar  to  tliem.  In  and  ont  he  led 
tliem,  always  as  far  as  possible  nnder  eover  of  trees 
and  bnshes,  now  and  tlien  over  a  streteh  of  dewy 
grass,  then  down  into  a  little  ravin(%  across  a  fork 
of  a  rongh  road,  throngli  more  than,  one  rivnlet, 
ankle  deep,  and  always  by  a  way  whieh  the  horses 
eonld  safely  follow,  since  that  was  essential. 

At  last  he  halted  and  looked  at  his  wateh  by  the 
starlight,  iV)r  he  had  good  eyes. 

"It  is  a  little  earlv,''  he  said  to  ^Fauro,  in  a 
whisper.  ''  We  are  near.  Yon  can  hear  tl  3  water 
at  the  rapids  where  we  mnst  ford  the  river.  It 
is  not  midnight  yet,  and  W(>  can  reach  the  ra,mpart 
in  a  (pmrter  of  [in  honr.  Are  you  going  to  leave 
anyone  with  the  horses?  This  woidd  be  the  best 
place,  for  there  are  few  trees  bi  twccn  this  and  the 
water." 

lie  f(dt  cold.  His  feet  were  wet,,  and  a  cool 
niu'ht  breeze  blew  down  the  vallev.  He  turned 
lip   the  collar  of  liis   coat  and  shivered  audibly. 


VDL.    II.  —  U 


■ 

1 

r 

i 

1 

n 

"  '/ 

1 

■  it 

1 

til . 

1 

lisr 

fF   ' '  ■ ' 

'  ^ ' 

p 


p- 


290 


COULEOyE 


Mauro  offered  liiui  a.  silver  flask,  and  lie  swallowed 
a  few  drops  of  li(|uoi'. 

"We  will  do  as  voii  think  best,"  said  the  chief. 
"If  you  think  this  is  a  good  plaee,  we  will  tether 
tlie  liorses  here,  and  give  them  their  nosebags  to 
keep  them  (juiet." 

In  a  few  minutes  tlie  liorses  were  tied  up  to 
se[)arate  trees  by  their  halters,  each  out  of  retieli 
of  the  other,  and  each  had  his  nose  in  a,  small  l)ag 
of  coni.  Ont*  had  l)een  ])rought  especially  for  Te- 
bahlo's,  as  tlie  precaution  was  an  important  one 
to  hinder  any  of  the  animals  from  neighing. 

'"AN'e  may  as  W(dl  go  on,'"  said  .Mauro.  "They 
have  been  in  bed  an  hour  by  this  time,  iind  a  man 
in  his  first  sleei)  is  not  so  easilv  waked." 

Tebaldo's  heart  was  be.'iting  hard  as  he  once 
more  led  tlu'  way.  it  had  ti'oubled  him  often  of 
late,  lie  ftdt  ill,  too,  and  his  l)ones  ached.  Ihit 
he  did  not  stumble  nor  lu\sitate,  as  he  led  the  fif- 
teen men  down  to  the  ford.  He  shivered  again  as 
he  glanced  at  the  grey,  rushing  water  that  sparkled 
liere  and  ther(>  in  the  starlight,  at  the  eddies. 

Mauro  was  already  taking  off  Iiis  boots,  and  all 
the  r«'st  sih'iitly  I'ollowed  his  examph^  On  the 
other  side  ol'  the  rapids  tlu^  i)rambles  grew  low 
down  to  the  warei''s  edge,  and  the  tall  euc;ily[)tus 
trees  made  bhiek  sha(h)ws.  Higher  up,  wild  olive 
trees  and  wild  ligs  grew  out  ol'  the  tangled  mass  of 
vegetatiou  that  covred   the  lil'ty  or  sixt}'  feet  of 


CORLKOXE 


291 


'allowed 

e  clii(3f. 
[1  tether 
;bags  to 

1  up  to 
jf  reach 
uall  bag 
for  Te- 
aiit  one 

"  They 
[  a  man 

lie  onee 
jften  of 

(1.    r»ut 

the  hf- 
igain  as 
parkled 

L'S. 

and  all 
On  the 
•ew  low 
^u,lyptus 
Id  olive 
mass  of 

feet  of 


the  precipitous  ascent,  all  indistiuguisliabh'  in  the 
dim  light.  High  above  a,ll,  to  the  right,  tlie  out- 
line of  the  gloomy  Druse's  tower  Avas  sharp  and 
dark  against  the  sky,  and  the  straight  line  of  the 
rampart  was  drawn  like  a  Ijlack  band  over  the  more 
uncertain  shadows  below. 

Tebaldo  whispered  to  ^Fauro  to  folhjw  liim  care- 
full}"  through  the  water,  and  the  whis[)(M'('d  word 
went  back  from  moutli  to  mouth  along  the  line  till 
it  reached  the  Moscio,  who  brouglit  u[)  the  rear. 

From  step  to  step,  knee  deep  in  the  cold  stream, 
Tebaldo  felt  for  his  footing  in  the  familitir  ford. 
He  had  known  every  inch  of  it  since  hi^  had  been 
a  child,  but  the  freshets  often  changed  the  bed, 
bringing  great  stones  down  in  tlie  winter  rains, 
which  sometimes  lodged  on  the  solid  rock  tliat 
came  to  the  surface  at  tliat  point  and  ])roduc('(l  tlie 
ford.  And  Tebaldo  felt  his  way  cautiously  with 
his  l){ire  feet. 

Reaching  the  other  sid(\,  he  followed  the  edge  of 
the  water  down  stream  i'or  a  little  wav.  till  all  the 
men  had  got  out  of  tln^  w;iter  and  were  following 
him,  barefooted,  over  the  ston(\s. 

Then  he  touched  ^lauro  to  warn  him  that  tht> 
ascent  was  about  to  b(\gin,  and  each  man  touched 
the  other  in  w;irning,  from  first  to  last.  Witli 
their  I'ilics  on  their  backs  and  their  revolvers  slung 
in  front  to  be  ready,  the  Hitecui  mcMi  followed  their 
guide    slowly    and    silently    upwards.      Here   and 


f  IB 

r 

i  ''^' 

i-"' ''' 

n 

5  ,,. 

i 

r  . 
i 

'    . 

ii 

pi 
ll     ' 


000 


rORLEONE 


there  the  rock  jutted  out  among-  tlio  buslies, 
affording  a  firm  foothold  to  naked  feet  and  hands. 
Again,  they  had  to  (dinib  up  by  tlie  gnaided  roots 
of  a  twisted  tig  tree,  each  man  trying  the  wood 
witli  his  liands  Ixd'ore  trusting  to  it.  Even  if  a 
bougli  or  dry  stick  liad  cracked,  the  sound  couhl 
not  have  been  lieard  above  the  st(\idily  monotonous 
roar  of  the  stream  ])(dow.  Tliey  moved  like  nioun- 
taineei's,  without  haste,  but  without  a  pause. 

The  rampart  was  not  more  than  twenty  feet 
high  above  the  linal  hnlge,  a  rough  wall  of  hewn 
stones,  pierced  all  along  the  top  by  little  slits  for 
defence  from  the  gallery  inside.  Tebaldo  glanced 
to  tlie  right  and  left,  and  saw  the  ladder  in  its 
place.  It  was  one  of  those  very  long  ones  used 
by  tlie  peasants  for  gath(U'ing  olives,  made  of  two 
light  and  half'trimmed  poles,  sharpened  at  the 
1(  wer  ends  to  stick  into  the  moist  ground  and  thus 
obtain  a  hold  from  ])elow  v/ithout  throwing  too 
mucli  weight  on  the  l)ranclies  above,  and  with  rungs 
nearly  two  fet^t  apart. 

Te])aldo  went  to  tlie  foot  of  the  ladder  and  lis- 
tened, though  the  rivei"  would  have  i)revented  him 
from  hearing  any  but  a  very  loud  sound  from 
witiiin.  His  lunirt  beat  in  his  ears  like  a  strong 
muffled  drum.  ^lauro  was  (dose  behind  him,  and 
touched  him  (tn  the  shoulder  and  ])ointed  upwards 
to  hasten  his  movements.  IJut  he  felt  as  though 
he  weri'  paralyzed. 


bushes, 
(1  lumds. 
.0(1  roots 
lie  wood 
veil  if  a 
lid  could 
iiotoiious 
;:e  mouii- 
se. 

Mity  feet 
of  hewn 
;  slits  for 

glanced 
or  in  its 
nes  used 
e  of  two 
1  at  the 
and  thus 
wing  too 
ith  rungs 

r  and  lis- 
iited  him 
md  from 
a  strong 
him,  and 
,  upwards 
bs  though 


coil  LEONE 


293 


Mauro  wiis  impatient  to  get  to  work,  and  pushed 
him  quietly  asick'.  It  was  so  dark  tliat  those  be- 
hind could  not  see  what  happened,  ^lauro  stepped 
upon  tlie  ladder  first,  tlie  next  man  pressed  after 
him,  and  the  rest  foHowed  his  comi)anions,  wliile 
TeVjaldo  stood  in  the  shadow,  dazed  and  shakiuu- 
with  excitement.  lUit  as  the  last  man  silently 
ascended,  his  wits  returned,  and  he  tliought  of  his 
own  safety.  Peering  u})  at  the  sky,  hc^  saw  the 
man's  dark  iigure  disappear  over  tlie  top  of  the 
wall. 

AVith  one  strong  effort  lie  loosened  the  ladder, 
and  in  an  instant  sent  it  flying  down,  end  foremost, 
through  the  bushes.  Three  ste[)S  he  took  under 
the  shadow  of  the  wall,  and  he  })lung('d  dcsjjcratcly 
down  through  the  ta,ngle,  escaping  for  his  life. 
He  Avas  swim^'ing  liin^.self  from  a  crooked  root  to 
a  rock  when  an  unearthly  scream  piei'ced  the 
darkness,  so  loud  and  terrible  that  it  might  ha\'e 
been  uttered  close  to  his  ear.  He  dro[)ped  ten 
feet  in  the  dark,  and  belV)re  he  touched  the  ground, 
even  while  he  Avas  still  in  mid-a,ii',  the  (piiek  iii'c 
of  repeating  rifles  half  deafened  him.  J  le  rolled 
down,  scrambled  to  his  feet,  jumped  again,  caught 
the  bough  ol'  a,  trc>e,  and  swung  himself  out  ovi-r  the 
water,  and  still  the  rifle-shots  cracked  tlirough  the 
roar  of  the  I'iver.  \h'.  ]tlunged  on.  Idi'  he  was 
below  the  ford,  almost  sank,  found  hottom,  saved 
himself,  and  fled  like  a  grey  woH'  in  tiie  starlight, 


h  fc 


'  ii 

ill 

V':'. ' 

I 

.  p    .  .  1 

R 

i  i "  '  ■ 

h 

^  i' 

1 

1 

\v  . 

■Si 

1 

i  ^ 

Mhl 

1 

i* 

294 


COBLEONE 


right  across  the  open,  barefooted  as  he  was.  The 
hriiig  had  not  ceased  when  he  was  in  the  saddle,  on 
Maui'o's  horse,  gaHoping  madly  along  the  broken 
ground  up  the  valley,  towards  the  high  road  to 
Santa  Vittoria.  Still  he  heard  shots,  and  glancing 
back  he  saw  the  dim  Hash  of  the  next,  above  the 
Avail.  Then  he  rode  for  Jus  life,  standing  with  his 
bare  feet  in  the  stirrups,  his  heart  beating  with  the 
furious  gallo[),  and  terror  behind  him,  —  the  terror 
he  had  never  felt  before,  and  which  even  now  was 
not  common  V)odily  fear. 

He  had  given  way  at  the  last  to  a  horror  of 
shame  at  the  t])ought  of  leading  those  men  to 
destruction,  to  pass  mdiurt  himself  through  the 
waiting  soldiers,  to  be  face  to  face  with  the  officer 
who  luul  cowed  him  into  such  a  betraval,  to  meet 

t-' 

San  Giacinto's  gloomy  scorn,  to  be  thanked  by  him 
with  the  contempt  he  deserved,  for  having  served 
the  hiw  he  had  so  often  defied.  He  rode  for  his 
life  from  the  thing  he  had  done,  rather  than  from 
the  fear  of  any  pursuit. 

The  tight  had  been  short  and  deadly.  INfauro 
had  reached  the  top  and  had  dr(jp})ed  to  the  pave- 
ment of  tlu^  gallery  within  the  rampart.  It  was 
deserted,  and  ;dl  was  (piite  still.  He  counted  his 
nuMi,  till  he  saw  the  head  of  the  last  ai)])earing  at 
the  top  of  the  bidder.  Then  with  his  rifle  slung 
ready,  with  his  knii'c  in  his  right  hand  and  his 
revolver  in  his  left,  he  crept  noiselessly  along  the 


COIiLEOXE 


295 


LS.  The 
[iddle,  on 
3  broken 
road  to 
glancing 
bove  the 
with  his 
with  the 
he  terror 
now  was 

lorror  of 
men  to 
3ugh  the 
[le  officer 
,  to  meet 
d  by  him 
g  served 
e  for  his 
lan  from 

IVIain'o 
the  pave- 

It  w;is 
mted  his 
earing  at 
ifie  shiiig 
.  and  his 
ilong  the 


stones  to  the  entrain'o  of  a  passage  hauling  inwards. 
It  was  quite  light  in  the  starlight  by  compurisou 
with  the  darkness  in  the  tangle  under  the  trees. 
He  went  on  a  few  paces  aheiul  of  his  men  and 
turned  again.  Suddenly  tliere  was  a  tall  uum  in 
front  of  him,  who  whispered  as  he  came  up. 

"Are  they  come?     Pass  me,  and  you  are  safe!  " 

That  was  all,  for  he  had  been  taken  for  Tebaldo 
in  the  gloom.  In  a  flash  he  understood,  and  with 
a  single  movement  drove  his  knife  straight  to  the 
man's  heart.  The  trooper  groaned  as  he  dicul. 
Then,  in  a  moment,  the  passage  was  full  of  sol- 
diers, before,  behind,  everywhere.  jMauro  yelled 
to  his  men  to  escape,  his  nuiilied  voice  breaking 
into  the  wild  scream  Tebaldo  had  heard.  At  the 
same  moment  he  tired. 

Tlie  men  saw  eacli  other  in  tlic  flashes  of  their 
rifles,  till  tlie  flashes  only  lighted  up  thick  (douds 
of  snu)ke  and  thev  groped  their  wav  to  kill  each 
other.  For  tlie  outlaws  died  hard,  and  their  aim 
was  cool  and  true  wIkmi  they  could  see,  and  wlien 
they  could  not,  they  felt  for  flesh  with  the  ]iiu/- 
zles  of  their  Winchesters  and  tired  when  they 
struck  anything  soft,  alive  or  dead.  Ihit  they 
knew  each  other  by  their  cliief's  name. 

"Mauro,  Mauro!  "  they  repeated,  as  they  jostled 
each  otlier  in  the  smoke. 

lUit  Mauro  was  dead  in  the  dark  already  with  a 
dozen  l)ullets  in  him,  and  though   live  soldiers  of 


' 

II 

r 

296 


CORLEONE 


tlie  line  lay  in  a  heap  around  liini  and  under  liim, 
the  gold  pieces  that  should  have  counted  them 
were  never  to  be  slipped  into  the  little  soft 
leathern  bag. 

Still  a  few  shots  were  fired,  here  and  there,  for 
some  of  the  men  had  managed  to  get  upon  the  roof 
of  the  low  buildings  between  the  stables  and  the 
rampart,  and  the  more  a(;tive  of  the  soldiers  pur- 
sued them.  When  all  was  quiet  save  the  sound  of 
many  distant  voices,  and  only  now  imd  then  an 
awful  groL'.n  came  up  out  of  the  thick  smoke,  one 
man,  who  had  thrown  aw\ay  his  empty  rifle  and 
pistol,  felt  his  way  among  the  dead,  with  a  knife 
in  his  hand,  groping  befc^'e  him  with  the  other  for 
any  living  thing  tliat  might  come  in  his  Avay.  But 
by  som(3  miraide  he  crept  on  and  found  no  one, 
and  was  suddenly  at  the  rampart  and  alone.  He 
glanced  quickly  to  right  and  left  for  the  ladder, 
and  saw  that  it  was  gone. 

"Judas  IscariotI"  he  said  in  alow  voice,  as  he 
thought  of  Tebahh). 

Then,  leaving  his  tale  of  dead  behind  him,  he 
unhesitatingly  got  over  the  wall,  turned  his  face 
to  it,  [ind  let  himself  down,  feeling  for  crevices  in 
the  stones  with  his  naked  feet.  And  his  small, 
strong  fingers  found  impossibly  small  holding,  but 
it  sufficed  for  a  while,  and  when  he  could  hold  no 
more,  he  pushed  himself  backwards  with  a  little 
spring  and  dropped  ten  feet  to  the  ledge. 


r  liiiiij 

them 

3    soft 

re,  for 
le  roof 
id  the 
s  piir- 
und  of 
len  an 
lC,  one 
le  and 
,  knife 
iier  for 
.  But 
o  one, 
3.  He 
[adder, 

,  as  he 

ini,  he 
is  face 
ices  in 
small, 
[ig,  but 
lold  no 
.1  little 


COR LEONE 


297 


No  one  had  fought  more  desperately  for  himself 
and  his  comrades  than  the  ]\Losci(t,  l)ut  fate  had 
saved  him  once  more,  and  he  made  his  way  ([uickly 
down  to  the  stream,  forded  it  almost  without  wet- 
ting himself,  coolly  found  his  boots  among  the 
many  that  waited  for  those  who  should  never  need 
them  again,  shod  himself,  picked  out  his  own  horse, 
and  rode  away  towards  the  :\Ianiace  woods.  He 
had  found  time  to  notice  that  ^Fauro's  liorse  was 
crone,  and  he  knew  that  Tel)aro  had  taken  it  be- 
cause  it  was  tlie  best. 

"Judas  Iscariot!"  he  repeated  quietly,  as  he 
rode  away,  without  a  scratcli,  from  that  hideous 
carnage,  man  enough  to  wish,  perhaps,  that  he 
had  found  his  death  where  so  many  had  falh-n. 

For  it  had  been  a  terrible  Hght,  at  close  quarters. 
Since  the  famous  Leone  had  been  killed,  tliere  had 
been  no  such  bloody  encounter  Ix'tween  outlaws 
and  troops.     The    trap    had   been   well    laid,    l)ut 
even  the  brave  old  otiicer  of  carabineers  had  not 
counted  on  liaving  to  deal  with  sucli  desperate  men. 
Of  tlie  outlaws,  five  only  were  alive  and  all  more 
or  less  badly  wounded.     Tlie  .Moscio  had  got  away 
unhurt,  and  nine  were  stone  dead.    There  had  been 
no  chance  of  even  offering  (luarter,  for  tlu^v  had 
fired  instantly  as  soon  as  they  had  seen  themselves 
surrounded,  and  tlieir  Winchesters  had  done  fear- 
ful work  in  a  few  moments.      Four  carabineers  an. I 
seventeen  of  the  line   were  carried  out   into  the 


s  > 


1  [. 

iji ' 

>, 

^  ■ 

1 

i  : 

F 

ft- 

lit 


298 


con LEONE 


W^' 


court,  one  hv  one.  and  were  laid  side  by  side  on 
the  stones,  under  the  stars.  A  dozen  or  fii'teen 
more  were  wounded,  among  whom  were  both  the 
officer  of  the  carabineers  and  the  young  red-haired 
lieutenant  of  foot.  As  for  San  Giacinto,  a  bullet 
had  taken  (jff  the  top  of  liis  ear  and  had  just  scored 
the  I'rev  hair  above  it.  A  thin  line  of  blood  ran 
down  the  side  of  liis  dark  face  as  he  bent  to 
examine  Mauro's  body,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand. 

Something  told  him  that  the  priest-faced  man 
had  been  the  famous  chief,  and  one  of  the  surviv- 
ing outlaws  confirmed  the  fact,  being  brought  up 
handcuffed  to  recognize  the  dead  men  one  by  one. 

San  Giacinto  coldly  wished  that  he  miglit  find 
Tebiddo  l*a,gliuca  among  tlie  slain,  and  said  so. 

">»'ever  fear,"  said  the  wounded  outlaw,  with  an 
ugly  smile.  ''Traitors  die  slowly  in  Sicily, —  but 
they  always  die." 

He  refused  to  answer  any  questions,  of  course, 
like  the  others  who  were  taken,  beyond  identify- 
ing the  dead,  and  tliey  all  swore  that  no  one  had 
escaped,  and  that  Tebaldo  had  been  mistaken  in 
saying  that  there  had  been  fifteen  instead  of 
fourteen. 

"But  the  famous  Moscio?"  asked  San  Giacinto, 
who  had  heard  of  the  youth.      "Where  is  he?" 

"The  ^loscio?"  The  outlaw  rei)eated  the  name 
with  a  blank  look.  "1  never  heard  the  name,"  he 
added  gravely. 


CHAl'TEll  XXXVII 


Tebaldo  slackened   liis   speed   at   last  and  at- 
tempted to  concentrate  liis  thonglits.      Exhausted 
as  he  was  by  exertion  and  by  the  ever-increasing 
strain  on  his  faculties,  it  was  not  easy  to  think  at 
all.    But  his  bare  feet,  cliilled  in  the  cold  stirrups, 
drew  his  attention  to  the  present  necessity  of  being 
shod  as  soon  as  possible.     lie  could  reach   llan- 
dazzo  long  before  dawn  and    get  into  tlie  inn  by 
knocking  and  rousing  the  man  who  slept  on   the 
ground    floor.      He    could    invent    some    story    to 
explain  why  he  had  ridden  home  on  another  hors(\ 
In  the  dark,  with  only  a   taper  or  a  lantern,  the 
man  would  not  notice  his  bare  feet,  and  he  could 
get  to  his  room  in  sr/ety.     Afttu-  that,  he  did  not 
know  what  he  should  do.     He  felt  that  if  lie  could 
not  get  rest  soon,  he  must  fall  ill.     As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  was  ill  already,  with  the  dangerous  fever 
of  the  south,   as  the  sudden  chills  he  had  lately 
felt  would  have  told  him  at  any  other  time. 

He  nuule  up  his  mind  that  he  must  reach  the 
inn;  he  put  his  horse  to  a  canter  ag;iiii  and  got  to 
Kandazzo    just    as    the    first    pallor    of    the    dawn 

200 


!»:-■ 


1:^ 


J''' 


lie 


300 


con  LEONE 


threw  tlie  dark  outline  of  Etna  into  strongt^r  relief 
against  the  sky.  Everything  lKi[)})ent'(l  as  he  liiid 
ho})ed.  The  slee[)y  mansei'vant  gave  him  tlie  kt'y 
of  the  stable,  and  he  hitehed  his  horse  in  a  stall, 
came  back,  entered  the  liouse,  and  reached  his  room 
in  safety,  the  man  not  having  noticed  that  he  was 
barefoot. 

He  locked  the  door  and  almost  staggered  to  his 
bed,  falling  u[)on  it  as  he  v/as,  in  his  wet  clothes. 
A  moment  later  he  was  [isleep. 

It  seemed  but  a  monumt  more  and  he  was  Avaked 
by  a  loud  knocking.  He  started  up  in  one  of  those 
hideous  dreams  of  fear,  of  which  the  whole  length 
takes  but  an  instant  of  time.  The  knocking  was 
the  sound  of  rifle-shots,  and  lu^  was  once  more 
])lunging  down  tlirough  the  tangle  below  Canial- 
doli.  Then  lie  saw  that  it  was  broad  daylight 
outside,  and  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  officer  of 
caralhneers  speaking  to  him  from  without  in  a 
friendly  tone.  Forgetting  or  not  caring  how  he 
looked,  he  opened  the  door. 

The  grey-haired  lieutenant  entered.  Pie  was 
already  shaved  and  dressed  with  his  usual  scrupu- 
lous neatness,  but  he  was  extremely  pale,  and  his 
arm  was  in  a  black  sling. 

^' I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  he  said,  "though, 
as  it  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  I  had  ex[)ected  to 
find  you  u[).  Tlie  fa;'t  is,  I  should  be  very  much 
obliged  to  you  if  you  could  make  it  convenient  to 


CO  I!  LEONE 


801 


was 


go  to  Ivoiiu'  —  or  Paris,  if  \'ou  please.     One  of  the 
brigands  escaped  ns  last  night." 

*'Only  one'.'"  asked  Tebahlo,  meehanieally. 

'n)nly  one.     W«'  su[)p()se  that  it  nuist  liave  been 
the  fanions  Moscio." 

''The  Moscio?" 

"We  suppose^  so.  AVlioever  it  was,  lie  has  lost 
no  time  in  telling  what  lias  hai)pened  and  yonr 
share  in  the  business.  You  an^  not  safe  even  in 
the  town  of  Kandazzo,  unless  you  will  consent  to 
go  about  between  a  couple  of  carabineers  like  a 
prisoner.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  you  had  l)etter 
go  at  once.  The  population  is  roused  against  you. 
You  know  what  they  are." 

"Yes.     I   know."     Tebaldo  leaned  against  the 

table. 

"I  can  protect  you  with  soldiers,"  continued  the 
officer,  his  own  voice  weak  from  loss  of  blood. 
"  But  your  position  will  be  a  very  unpleasant  one. 
I  have  sent  for  a  carriage  for  you  and  will  give 
you  a  strong  escort,  but  for  your  own  safety,  as 
well  as  for  the  quit3t  of  tlie  country,  I  must  b(\g 
you  to  start  as  soon  as  you  can  dress  and  get 
your  things  together.  To-day  you  may  get  away 
quietly.  To-morrow  your  appearance  might  cause 
something  like  a  riot." 

"I  knew  how  it  would  end,"  said  Tebaldo, 
faintly.     "Very  well.     I  will  get  ready." 

The  lieutenant  was  in  reality  exaggerating  the 


|.    i 


^-  J  ■ 


'5'       ' 


1^' 
IS' 


302 


con  LEONE 


danger  of  the  man's  position,  tliougli  quite  unin- 
tentionally. He  would  certainly  not  liave  been 
safe  in  such  a  place  as  Santa  A^ittoria,  but  it  was 
extrenudy  unliktdy  tb;it  b<'  should  be  attacked  in 
Knufhizzo,  though  he  miglit  very  probably  have 
been  insult(^d  in  the  streets. 

The  ]\roscio  hiul  in  real  it  v  seen  but  oue  nmn 
Avitli  wlioni  h(^  liad  spoken  befon^  dawn,  but  he 
was  the  woodcutter  who  had  chiefly  supplied  the 
outlaws  with  provisions  (hiring  their  stay  in  the 
forest  of  ]Maniace,  and  he  had  come  up  as  usual  to 
know  if  the}'  wanted  anything  on  that  day,  being 
as  yet  ignorant  of  the  tight  at  Camaldoli.  But  as 
he  came  down,  the  man  had  met  an  acquaintance 
and  liad  rei)eated  the  story  without  telling  hoAv  lie 
had  learned  it.  Before  noon  the  facts  were  known 
far  and  wide  from  Sa.nta  Vittoria  to  Raudazzo, 
substantialh^  as  the  Moscio  knew  that  they  had 
ha])pene(l. 

Tlie  feeling  against  Tcbaldo  was  at  once  infi- 
nitely stronger  tlian  that  against  tlie  carabineers 
and  soldiers.  To  a  certain  ext<Mit  tlie  brigands 
always  ttu'rorized  tiic  countr}^  and  many  of  the 
bett'M'  sort  of  ]ie()ple  were  heartily  gla,d  to  know 
that  the  band  (»f  Mauro  had  been  finally  destroyed, 
though  tlu^y  did  not  say  so,  lest  sonu^  survivor 
should  wrc^dc  vengeance  on  them.  B)nt  there  was 
no  difference  of  ojdnion  in  regard  to  Tcbaldo.  It 
was  not  exactly  treachery  to  carry  peo[)le  olf  by 


COULEOXE 


?m 


infi- 


force  and  extort  a.  ransom  from  tliom,  as  tlie  out- 
laws (lid.  But  to  lead  men  wlio  trusted  liiiu  into 
a  trap  ])repared  for  tliein  by  tlu^  troo])s  Avas  a 
betrayal  wliieli  no  Sicilian  could  forgive  Tebaldo, 
even  tliougli  it  miglit  have  had  some  good  results, 
and  the  name  of  Judas,  wliich  the  jNToscio  had 
spoken  alone  in  the  solitude,  was  on  every  tongue. 

It  is  of  no  use  to  waste  words  in  trying  to  ex- 
plain this  feeling,  which  most  ])eo[)le  will  under- 
stand. The  fact  was  that  the  whole  ])opulation 
shared  it,  as  Tebaldo  knew  that  th(\v  must,  since 
the  story  had  become  known.  He  ri^^ognized  at 
once  that  he  ought  to  accept  the  officer's  advice 
and  get  away  as  soon  as  he  could,  lie  would  write 
to  Aliandra  from  Messina,  but  he  was  sure  that 
she  must  despise  him  now,  like  everyone  else. 
To  all  intents  and  purposes  be  was  a  fugitiv(\  as 
he  drove  out  of  the  town,  half  an  hour  latcu-,  in  a 
closed  carriage  with  tht^  ragged  sliades  drawn 
down.  Possildy  he  remendxu'iHl,  as  h(>  sliiviM'cd 
in  his  corner  beside  the  carabinec,  liow  tlie  light 
had  fallen  on  Ippidito  Saracinesca,'s  face  in  the 
street  of  Santa  Vittoria  scarcely  ten  days  earliei-, 
how  the  peo]d(^  had  cursed  tht'  innocent  man,  and 
had  tlirown  things  at  him,  trying  to  bruise  him 
from  a.  distance. 

Another  carabineer  sat  opimsite  in  the  carriage, 
and  one  was  on  tlu^  box  beside  the  (b'ivcr.  TcbahU) 
vaguely  understood  that  even  the  soldiers  despised 


w 

r 

1  i  1 

I  fl 

1  '■'' 

m 

Is 


i  iimu  in. 


a04 


con  LEONE 


him,  but  he  Avas  almost  past  cariiij^  what  they 
thought.  The  fever  was  slowly  gaining  on  him, 
and  his  nerves  were  utterly  broken.  His  face  was 
like  a  vellow  mask,  and  he  hunci:  his  head  so  that 
his  eh  in  rested  on  his  breast.  He  reached  jNIessina 
in  a  dream  and  went  to  the  wretched  hotel  there. 
He  was  not  alole  to  go  on  to  Home  tliat  niglit,  and 
a  doctor  who  was  sent  for  said  that  he  had  the 
'perniciosa'  fever. 

On  the  following  morning,  in  Randazzo,  Alian- 
dra  was  sitting  alone  in  her  room.  She  liad  heard 
of  all  that  had  happened.  Twenty  people  had 
been  to  see  tlie  notary  on  the  previous  day,  and  the 
story  had  ])een  repeated  again  and  again,  till  she 
knew  every  word  of  it  by  heart. 

Slie  was  asliamed  of  ever  luiving  wished  to  marry 
such  a  man.  That  was  lier  first  sensati(m,  and  it 
liad  not  left  her  vet.  Thouijrh  she  was  stronsx  and 
sensible,  slie  liad  shut  herself  up  in  lier  own  room 
and  had  cried  for  liours,  not  for  Tebaldo,  but  witli 
sliame  and  anger  at  lu'rself.  She  hated  him  now, 
far  more  than  she  liad  ever  cared  for  anyone  in 
her  short  life,  and  she  was  glad  wlien  slu^  heard 
that  he  was  gone,  for  she  never  wished  to  see  him 
again.  It  was  a  perfectly  simple  state  of  mind. 
The  man  wns  a  despicable  traitor,  in  her  view,  and 
she  hat(Hl  Inu'self  for  having  ever  believed  in  him. 

Her  shame  at  the  whole  thing  was  not  her  own 
secret.     That  made  it  worse.     Her  father's  friends 


»li  v^i'  ■    i! 


Bij' 


COULEONE 


305 


.t  they 
11  him, 
Lce  was 
io  that 
lessma 
there. 
ht,  and 
lad  the 


Alian- 
l  heard 
lie  had 
ind  the 
bill  slie 

3  marry 
,  and  it 
nig  and 
'n  room 
nt  with 
m  now, 
yone  in 
e  heard 
see  him 
r  mind, 
ew,  and 
in  liim. 
lier  own 
friends 


knew  very  well  that  Tehahlo  often  eame  to  the 
honse  and  was  in  love  witli  her,  and  liad  not  been 
rebntt'ed.  The  lientenant  of  carabineers  liimself 
generally  eame  onee  a  Aveek  to  [)!iy  a  visit,  foi'  lie 
liked  Basil i.  All  the  townsfolk  knew  it.  It  was 
a  reproach,  and  a  pnblie  one,  it  was  a  blot  on  her 
good  name,  and  she  hdt  it  all  the  move  painfully 
because  she  had  never  done  anvthin"-  to  be 
ashamed  of. 

Again  and  again,  through  the  night  and  in  the 
morning,  the  burning  tears  of  anger  at  herself  ran 
over  and  scalded  her  cheeks,  and  then  dried  as  her 
anger  rose  against  Tebahlo. 

This  morning  she  had  just  V)een  through  one  of 
these  storms  of  tears  in  the  solitude  ol:'  lier  room, 
when  Gesualda  knocked  at  tin*  door.  Poor,  ugly 
Gesualda,  whose  innocent  little  sin  of  eiiting  an 
oranure  on  the  stairs  one  dav  had  started  the  ava- 
lanche  of  fate  that  ended  in  the  d^'struetion  of 
Mauro's  band,  the  death  of  iM-ancesco  Vagliuca, 
and  the  ruin  of  Tebahlo,  would  have  died  of  horror 
had  she  known  that  all  these  things  were  the  direct 
consequences  of  r)asili's  broken  leg,  wldeh  had 
brou<>-ht  Aliandra  to  Kanda/.zo,  followed  by  the 
two  bi'otliers. 

Slu^  entered   ([uietly  tnid  stupidly  enougli. 

''Siu'uorina,"  she  said,  '•<lrv  vour  .-yes,  for 
tliere  is  one  who  would  spl'al^  witli  you  down- 
stairs.'" 

VOL.    11.  —  X 


■    \ 


306 


COBLEONE 


a 


Who  is  it?"  asked  Aliandra,  impatieiit'y. 
"Will  tliey  ever  let  me  alone?  What  does  he 
want?" 

"])o  not  ])e  ann^iy,  si;^norina,"  answered  the 
woman.  "It  is  a.  yonni;'  i;entlenian  from  jMessina, 
who  has  a  i)ai"('el  for  you  in  liis  liands  and  begs 
that  A'ou  will  kindly  receive  it  yourself." 

"  A  pared  from  Messina?  Wtdl  —  "  Aliandra 
hesitated,  but  her  curiosity  was  I'oused.  "Tell 
him  that  I  will  come  down  immediately,"  she 
concluded. 

A  few  miinites  later  she  descended  the  stairs, 
h;ivin<j:  nlun^'ed  her  face  into  cold  water  and  done 
her  best  to  remove  tlie  traces  of  lier  tears.  She 
entered  th(i  front  room  and  met  a  girlish  looking 
youth  Avith  close  and  curlinii:  brown  hair,  and 
extremely  well  dressed  in  light  grey.  A  ratlier 
d(dicale  hand  held  out  a  parcel  to  her,  as  he 
bowed  resjx'ctfully. 

"  I  was  commission(Ml  to  hand  you  this  parcel, 
signorina,,"  said  the  INIoscio.  "It  is  from  one  of 
your  greatest  admirers." 

"From  whom  is  it?"  she  asked  quickly,  as  she 
took  the  heavy  little  package. 

"Tliat  is  your  friend's  secret.  Tie  only  begs 
that  you  will  oi)en  it  when  you  a,i'(^  alone.  It  con- 
tains a  little  sur[)rise  for  you.  1  thaidv  yon  for 
your  kiuibiess  in   receiving  me,   signorina.     Ciood 


morning 


;  J 


COBLEOSE 


307 


bieiit'.y. 
[oes   lie 

ed  tlie 
[essina, 
ul  begs 

.liandra 
"  Tell 

y,"   she 

1  stairs, 
lul  done 
•s.  She 
looking 
lir,  and 
I  rather 
,    as    he 

1  parcel, 
1  one  of 

',  as  she 

ily  begs 

It  con- 

you  for 

L.     Good 


He  bowed  and  Lioved  (juickly  towards  the  door. 
'^But  yon,  signore  —  what  is  yonr  nanu'?     I  ain 
infinitely  obliged  —  •' 

''My  name  is  Angelo  Laria,   signorina.      Good 


morning 


?? 


Before  she  could  stop  him,  lie  had  left  the  room, 
and  she  heard  the  front  door  sliut  immediately 
afterwards.  She  looked  out  through  tlie  closed 
blinds,  and  there  was  no  one  within  sight.  It  was 
as  though  she  had  dreamed  of  tlie  visitor.  Then 
she  felt  the  i)ackage,  shook  it,  weighed  it,  began 
to  nndo  it,  changed  her  mind,  and  went  swiftl}^  np 
the  stairs  to  her  own  room.  It  might  l)e  an  orna- 
ment or  a  jewel,  she  thought,  sent  to  tlie  celebrated 
singer  by  an  unknown  admirer  —  [)ossibly  the  well- 
dressed  young  gentleman  who  had  brought  it  was 
himself  the  giver,  in  sjiite  of  what  he  said.  At 
all  events  she  would  look  at  it  in  private.  She 
bolted  the  door  of  her  room,  sat  down  near  the 
window  in  order  to  have  plenty  of  light,  and 
opened  the  parcel  carefully. 

It  contained  a  letter  sealed,  addressed  to  her, 
and  ft)lded  round  the  black  leathern  sheath  of 
Tebaldo's  knife.  She  took  tln^  letter  in  one  hand 
and  the  knife  in  the  otluu',  turning  over  the  latter 
curiously.  lUit  she  was  too  much  a  Sicilian  not  to 
have  heard  (jf  such  messages,  and  she  guessed  that 
the  letter  eontained  either  a-  threat  or  a  warniug. 
She  tore  open  the  envelo[)e  aud  read  the  contents 


EH 


308 


COB LEONE 


m  'v 


i 

19 


eagoi'ly.  Tliere  were  two  large  sheets,  tolerably 
closel}^  written  in  excellent  handwriting,  and 
beginning  as  follows: 

"  Si(rXoiiiN'A, —  AVe,  who  are  beyond  laws,  do  not 
betray  even  our  enemies  to  the  law,  nuudi  less  our 
friends.  We  have  little,  but  we  have  honour. 
The  man  to  whom  this  knife  belonged  has  neither, 
and  against  him,  and  such  as  he,  we  warn  women 
like  yourself,  who  are  young,  beai,itiful,  and  hon- 
est. These  words  are  not  written  to  the  incom- 
parable artist,  the  matchless  singer,  tlie  wonder  of 
Sicily,  and  the  pride  of  the  nation.  They  are 
addressed  to  you  —  simply  as  Aliandra  liasili,  an 
honoiu';i!)h!  Sicilian  maiden,  the  daughter  of  an 
honest  Sicilian  notary.  It  is  known  to  us  all  that 
you  have  put  3- our  faith  and  trust  in  Tebaldo  Pa- 
gliuca.  Consider  what  is  here  written,  your  own 
honour,  and  your  father's  name,  and  <lo  not  nuirry 
one  wlio  has  hetraved  his  friends  to  death  and 
captivity,  and  who,  moreover,  murdered  his  own 
brother  with  the  wea})on  I  now  ])lace  in  your 
hands.  Judas  was  an  honourable  man  compared 
witli  your  betrotlied  husband,  Tebaldo  ragliuca." 

Aliandra  stopped  at  this  point,  read  the  last 
sentences  again,  and  glanced  at  the  knife  she  still 
held  in  one  hand.  With  a  movement  of  horror 
and  disgust  she  threw  it  from  her.  Tiien  she  hesi- 
tated, rose,  pickeil  it  U]),  and  hid  it  in  a  drawer 
before  she  continued  reading. 


con LEONE 


300 


)lerably 


and 


1,  do  not 
less  onr 
honour, 
neither, 

women 
id  hon- 

incom- 
mder  of 
ley  are 
Lsili,  an 
'  of  an 
all  that 
Ido  I'a- 
ur  own 

marry 
tli  and 
lis  own 
n  your 
mpared 
I'liuca." 
lie  last 
he  still 

horror 
10  liesi- 
drawer 


The  letter  went  on  to  tell  the  story  of  the  last 
four  days  in  detail,  from  the  time  wlien  Tebahlo  had 
sent  for  the  Moseio  to  sup  with  him  at  the  inn, 
till  Tebaldo's  departure  from  IJandazzo.  Aliandra 
did  not  pause  till  she  reached  the  hist  seutenees, 
but  there  was  the  bright  red  flush  of  ;inL;-er  and 
shame  in  her  cheeks.  There  is  [x'rhaps  no  such 
cruel  shame  in  liuman  nature  as  that  a  woman  feels 
at  the  disgrace  of  the  man  she  has  ;ieee[)ted  as  lius- 
baiid  or  lover.  She  paused,  bit  lier  lips,  a,nd  then 
read  to  the  end. 

"This  is  not  an  anonymous  letter,  signorina.  I 
who  write  to  you  am  known  as  the  Moseiu,  out 
many  people  call  me  Angelo  Laria,  I  am  he  who 
by  a  miracle  escaped  from  the  massacre  the  night 
before  last,  when  all  my  friends  Avere  dead  or  taken 
and  I  had  not  a  shot  left  to  hre.  When  I  lea\'(; 
you  I  am  going  to  the  inn  where  Tebahlo  l*agliuea 
stayed,  for  1  will  not  send  such  a  letter  as  this  and 
then  slink  away  like  a  thief.  It  is  in  your  power, 
if  you  have  read  this  at  once,  to  inform  the  authori- 
ties and  have  me  taken.  I  am  not  even  arnuMl. 
We,  who  have  no  laws,  do  not  betray  our  friends, 
but  we  warn  our  women  against  such  men  as 
Tebahlo  Pagliuca,  and  we  know  that  they  will  not 
betray  us  treacherously  as  he  did.'' 

There  was  no  signature,  for  none  was  neces- 
sary. There  were  few  in  Sicily  who  had  not 
heard  the  name  of  the  IMoscio,  and  many  strangely 


I'i 

u 


wi 

r 

i 

kf '"?  t  '■  ■ 

■iiM 

■1 

■ 
1, 

mn 

J 

li 

III 

!, 

310 


con LEONE 


romantic  stories  were  told  of  him.  Some  may 
think  tliat  considering  wliat  the  man  was,  Aliandra 
shoukl  liave  delivered  him  up  forthwith  to  justice. 
She  wotdd  as  soon  have  stabbed  her  father  in  the 
back. 

But  gradually,  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
staring  at  tlie  wall,  the  angry  flush  subsided  from 
her  cheeks  and  a  dr(\amy  look  came  into  her  face. 

''  This  outlaw  is  at  least  a  man  and  a  brave  one," 
she  said  to  herself,  as  slie  thought  of  him. 

The  Moscio  was  quite  safe,  so  far  as  she  was 
concerned.  She  folded  the  letter  carefully,  return- 
ing it  to  its  envelope,  and  then,  taking  the  stout 
paper  in  which  it  had  been  wrapped,  she  opened 
the  drawer,  took  the  knife  and  rolh^d  it  up  with 
the  letter  again,  tying  it,  as  she  had  received  it. 
After  tliat  she  took  sealing-wax  and  sealed  it  with 
the  little  emblem  of  Sicily  which  she  carried  on  a 
thin  chain  with  other  trinkets  —  the  three  legs 
growing  out  of  a  hunum  head,  for  the  three  capes 
of  the  triangular  island. 

Tebaldo  had  disappeared  without  a  word,  and 
she  naturally  believed  that  he  had  gone  to  Rome 
to  escape  the  vengeance  of  the  Moscio  and  of  any 
friends  the  latter  might  have.  Aliandra  was 
sure  he  must  know  that  she  would  never  see  him 
again,  for  though  many  of  the  detn'ls  written  by 
the  outlaw  were  new  to  her,  besides  the  main  fact 
of  Francesco's  murder,  the  fact  of  the  betrayal  of 


con LEONE 


311 


le  may 
Handra 
justice. 
:  ill  the 

•  chair, 
(I  from 
L*  face, 
e  one," 

he  was 
returii- 
e  stout 
opened 
p  with 
ved  it. 
it  with 
3d  on  a 
le  legs 
3  capes 

d,  and 
Home 
of  any 
a  was 
!e  him 
ben  by 
in  fact 
lyal  of 


tlie  band  by  Tebaldo  was  public  i.mpcitv.  He 
had  gone  to  Uome  without  so  much  as  att('iii[)tiug 
to  defend  himself. 

And  now  slie  had  in  her  liauds  the  i)ro()l's  that 
Tebaldo  had  killed  his  brother,  or  wliat  she  be- 
lieved to  be  proofs,  though  the  hiw  might  have 
tliought  differently.  She  had,  at  least,  tlic  cer- 
tainty, for  it  did  not  enter  lier  liead  that  the 
Moscio  could  be  tiying  to  deceive  her. 

Yet  she  would  not  take  these  proofs  to  the 
deputy  prefect,  nor  show  them  to  her  father.  Slie 
was  not  a  detective.  The  idea  of  giving  the  mur- 
derer up  was  repugnant  to  her,  though  in  a  less 
degree  than  the  thought  of  informing  against  tlie 
Moscio  himself.  She  wondered  what  Tebaldo 
would  do  next. 

Thinking  it  over,  she  came  to  t1ie  rather  unex- 
pected conclusion  tliat  he  had  gone  to  iJonie  in 
order  to  marry  the  American  heiress  at  onc^e.  At 
first  til  is  seemed  wild,  but  she  grew  .'iccustomed  to 
the  thought  in  a  few  moments,  .'lud  it  ini[)ressed 
her.  There  would  be  much  in  favour  of  the  jilan, 
if  he  could  carry  it  out.  Once  married  to  .Miss 
Slayback  and  her  millions,  Tebaldo  could  leave 
Italy  for  ever  and  spend  the  rest  of  his  lib'  as  he 
pleased.  The  mafia  could  not  pursue  him  to  a 
foreign  country.  Even  in  Home  he  would  be  com- 
paratively safe,  for  Rome,  she  thought,  was  a  very 
civilized   capital,   and   one  man   could  not  easily 


_,       .  :■          ■-_     - 

Kf   It; 

■ni     ■    r 

f'  '■  ■ 

1  '^'■' '  ' 

1'' 

r  i 

V 

1 

It.; 


312 


con LEONE 


wait  for  anothri-  in  the  Villa  IJorgliese  as  ho  could 
at  the  turning  of  a  lonely  Sicilian  road. 

The  more  she  thought  of  it,  the  more  certain 
she  felt  that  he  meant  to  many  Miss  Slayback. 
All  the  details  of  her  last  interview  with  Francesco 
came  back  vividly.  Knowing,  now,  that  Tebaldo 
had  killed  him,  she  was  more  willing  than  before 
to  believe  everything  Francesco  had  said.  Te- 
baldo had  loved  her,  in  a  fierce  and  brutal  way, 
but  \\(\  had  never  meant  to  marry  her  at  all.  lie 
had  meant  something  else.  Her  cheeks  burned 
once  more,  and  her  eyes  Hashed  dangerously.  He 
should  not  marry  Miss  Slayback,  either,  she 
thought. 

Tlien  she  reflected  a  little  more  calmly  on  her 
own  position,  and  she  decided  to  leave  Kandazzo 
at  once.  After  wliat  had  happened,  she  could  not 
stav  in  lier  native  town,  ashamed  to  show  her  face 
in  tlie  streets.  Even  the  outlaw  had  known  that 
she  was  engaged  to  marry  Tebaldo  J/agliuca.  The 
very  children  Avould  point  at  her. 

Her  father  was  mucli  better,  and  she  communi- 
cated her  decision  to  him.  Jle  was  very  grim  and 
silent  about  it  all,  but  he  thought  she  was  wise. 
He  should  soon  be  on  his  legs  again;  at  all  events, 
she  had  hel[)('d  him  to  get  over  the  most  tiresome 
part  of  his  recovery  from  tlie  actcident,  and  he  now 
attended  to  his  business  regularly  with  his  clerk 
and  received  his  clients    in  his  room.     Aliandra 


Con  LEONE 


313 


could 


made  her  preparations  and  left  on  the  following 
day,  in  the  very  carriage  wiiieh  liad  taken  Tcbaldo 
to  tlie  station  of  Tiedinionte.  And  she,  too,  had 
the  old  carriage  closed  and  drew  down  tln^  ra"'«>ed 
blinds.  The  l)oys  in  the  street  did  not  know  who 
was  inside,  but  tliey  had  lieard  how  Tebahlo  had 
driven  away,  and  seeing  the  blinds  down,  they  ran 
along  by  tlie  door,  yelling  in  derision. 

"Another  betrayer!  Another  Judas!  Curses 
on  tlie  souls  of  his  dead!  "   they  cried. 

The  coachman  laslied  at  them  with  liis  whij»,  and 
they  fell  behind,  but  Aliandra  liad  understood,  and 
her  eyes  flashed  and  the  burning  blush  came  back. 

She  had  telegraphed  to  her  aunt,  and  the  Sig- 
nora  Barbuzzi  met  her  at  tlie  station  in  ^lessina. 
They  reached  Tvonie  on  the  second  day,  a  little  less 
than  a  fortnight  after  they  had  left,  and  early  in 
the  afternoon. 


If 


n 


CHAPTER   XXXVIIl 


M^' 

Mauta  Cakolixa  was  not  exactly  insane,  but 
slie  was  entirely  nnbalanced,  and  seemed  to  have 
no  sane  judgment  in  ordinary  matters.  Her  first 
outbursts  of  grief  had  subsided  into  a  profound 
religious  melancholy,  and  she  insisted  upon  being 
taken  to  a  convent  in  Avliich  she  might  end  her 
days  in  peace.  She  seemed  utterly  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  her  daughter  would,  be  left  alone 
until  her  surviving  brother  came  back,  if  he  ever 
returned  at  all,  and  that  such  a  man,  even  as  she 
knew  him,  was  no  fit  guardian  for  a  young  girl. 
The  doctors  said  that  in  all  probability,  if  she 
were  not  allowed  to  do  what  slie  wished,  she 
would  really  go  mad,  in  her  present  state.  They 
sucrciresttHl  that  she  should  retire  to  one  of  the  con- 
vents  where  ladies  were  received  who  wIsIkm  to  go 
into  a  religious  retreat,  and  that  one  of  tlie  Sisters 
of  the  l)On  Secours  should  obtain  permission  to 
live  with  Vittoria  for  a  few  days  until  her  brother 
arrived. 

Vittoria,  worn  out  Avith  anxiety  and  sorrow,  did 

not  know  how  to  lace  tliis   new  difhculty.     ]\Iiss 

Lizzie  Slay  back  insisted  that  she  should  come  and 

314 


COIILEOXE 


815 


ne,  but 
to  have 
lev  first 
m  found 
n  being 
!nd  her 
Hess  of 
b  alone 
he  ever 
as  slie 

if  she 
id,  she 
They 
le  con- 
u  to  go 
Sisters 
don  to 
brother 

)w,  flid 

Miss 

ne  and 


stay  with  her  and  lier  aunt  at  tlie  hoteh  After  a 
little  hesitation,  slie  aeeopted,  tor  it  seenn-d  tlie 
only  solution  of  the  diiliculty.  The  Anicricau  ^irl 
had  become  sincerely  attached  to  her  Itidiim  friend, 
and  felt  herself  drawn  to  Vittoria  for  the  sake  of 
having  been  on  the  point  of  marrying  Tebaldo,  a 
state  of  mind  which  is  natural  to  some  characters 
and  utterly  unnatural  to  others.  It  wtis  a  generous 
impulse,  at  all  events. 

Vittoria  Avent  with  her  mother  to  the  convent 
and  helped  her  to  install  herself,  and  on  the  same 
afternoon  she  moved  with  her  maid  to  the  Hotel 
Bristol.     She  was  like  a  lovelv  shadow. 

"1  am  so  tired,"  she  said,  when  she  sat  down 
at  last  beside  Miss  Lizzie. 

"Kest,  dear,  rest,"  answered  the  American  girl, 
drawing  the  weary  head  down  to  lier  shoulder. 

As  the  hours  went  ])y,  and  she  felt  the  freedom 
of  not  being  obliged  to  go  back  to  the  sadness 
of  her  mother's  society,  Vittoria  revived  a  little. 
But  her  life  was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear. 
The  papers  had  been  full  of  the  capture  of  ^^fauro's 
band,  and  of  her  brother's  share  in  it,  for  the  story 
had  spread  like  wildfire  over  Sicily.  Even  the 
Roman  papers  made  scathing  allusions  to  Tebaldo's 
possible  relations  with  th(>  brigands,  and  wliile 
congratulating  the  government  on  its  victory, 
made  sarcastic  en(iuiries  into  the  stat(^  of  tlie 
betrayer's   conscience.     It  was    hideed    hard    for 


4 

If 


310 


aouLEoyE 


Vittoria  to  boiii'.  Slio  liad  no  news  of  Tebaldo 
liinisi'lf,  who  soeiiUHl  to  have  {lisap[)earetl  mysteri- 
ously. Jlcr  mother  had  practically  abandoned  her 
in  her  sidtish  and  half-insane  sorrow.  She  felt 
herself  utterly  alone  in  the  world. 

Orsino  .n'ravely  read  the  articles  in  the  papers, 
and  wished  that  he  could  silence  them  for  Vit- 
toria's  sake.  Had  there  ever  been  so  nmch  as  a 
mention  of  Iku'  name,  or  ev(ui  of  her  mother's, 
he  would  have  taken  active  measures  to  do  so. 
But  the  editors  were  careful  never  to  allude  to 
Tebaldo's  family,  and  it  was  out  of  the  question 
to  hinder  them  from  speaking  of  him  as  they 
chose.  So  far  as  Orsino  knew,  the  man  was  quite 
able  to  defend  himself. 

Sant'  Ihirio  read  the  accounts  aloud  to  his  father 
and  to  Corona.  Sometimes  Tppolito  listened,  but 
Orsino  always  made  an  excuse  for  leaving  the 
room,  [)refen'ing  to  read  the  news  for  himself. 

There  was  a  [)er[)etua,l  subdued  anxiety  in  the 
great  houseliold,  on  Ippolito's  ax^count^  with  an 
eager  ex[)ectatio)i  that,  in  the  course  of  the  present 
events  the  mvsterv  of  Fran(*esco's  death  should  be 
cieareil  uji.  Their  friends  looked  upon  tlu^  affair 
very  mucli  as  though  it  had  taken  phuu'  in  Africa 
01"  the  South  Seas,  for  Sicih'  seems  vei'v  remote  to 
Koman  society.  They  laughed  at  the  idcMi  that 
J])])()lito  could  really  evei-  be  brought  to  trial. 
Even  the  Minister  of  Justice,  who  was  a  friend  of 


CORLEOXE 


817 


Tebaldo 
mysteri- 
)iie(l  her 
^he  felt 

papers, 
for  Vit- 
ch  as  a 
other's, 

do  so. 
ihule  to 
[iiestion 
as  they 
[IS  quite 

s  father 
led,  but 
ing  the 
iiself. 

in  the 
vitli  an 
present 
ouhl  be 
0.  affair 
L  Africa 
note  to 
(VI  that 
)  trial, 
iend  of 


Sant'  Tlario's,  smiled  and  said  tlat  the  law  had 
means  of  putting  off  tlie  trial  foi-  ii  long  time  in 
order  that  satisfactory  evideu(M^  might  V)e  obtained. 
])ut  no  sucli  evidence  was  forthcoming.  The  jud<''e 
who  had  heard  the  case  in  ]^^c8^:ina  had  been  to 
Santa  Vittoria,  but  had  met  with  the  most  com- 
plete substantiation  of  Tebaldo's  own  story,  lie 
had  not  even  thought  of  causing  the  grating  under 
the  altar  to  be  opened.  Nothing  new  transpired,  and 
Ippolito  resolutely  held  Ids  tongue.  In  order  to 
avoid  being  rpu'stioned  by  his  many  ac(piaintances, 
he  saw  as  few  people  as  he  could,  and  spent  nuich 
time  over  his  music  in  Orsino's  room.  The  two 
brothers  Avere  as  fond  of  each  otlier  as  ever,  but 
when  they  were  together  they  were  nuich  more 
silent  than  formerly.  TIk^  secret  [jreoccupaiion  of 
each  conflicted  with  that  of  the  otlier,  and  ^l:e 
peace  between  them  ck'pended  upon  silence  for  its 
security. 

Nor  did  anyone  in  the  household  know  that 
Orsino  had  seen  A^itt  ria  several  times  ;it  Mrs. 
Slayback's,  still  less  tliat  the  Anuudcan  lady  and 
her  niece  always  nmnaged  to  leave  the  two  ah)ne 
together  for  a  wldle  on  sucli  occasions.  Orsino 
was  determined  tliat  nothing  should  come  between 
him  and  Vittoria,  but  at  the  pivsoit  juncture  it 
Avas  Jm])ossible  for  him  to  insist  upon  his  family's 
consent  to  his  marriage. 

Vittoria,   on  her  side,   had  given  up  all   Ikijx', 


f  H 

Ml- 
ill--' 

1 

-'■ 

1 

|i::- 

•     1'  ' 

,i     1 

818 


COnLEONE 


thou'^'li  her  love  gained  upon  lier  sorrows  in  the 
struggle  for  lier  soul.  She  was  too  lonely  not  to 
love  her  love  for  its  com})anionsliip,  too  weary  not 
to  love  Orsino  for  his  strength,  and  yet  too  deso- 
late to  believe  that  liai)])iness  could  wait  for  her 
while  the  cruel  hours  and  days  crawletl  slowly  on. 

It  had  seemed  easy  long  ago  —  a  mont'i  or  a 
little  more,  at  most  —  when  Orsino  had  iir&t  gone 
to  Sicily.  It  hiul  seemed  possible  when  he  had 
come  back  that  first  time,  even  though  he  had 
killed  her  own  brother  in  s(df-defence.  I>ut  there 
was  no  more  possibility  now.  She  felt  that  this 
was  the  end  of  her  race.  Some  fearful  thing  must 
hap[)en  to  Tebaldo,  and  she  should  be  left  alone, 
the  last  of  the  long  and  evil  line  of  the  Corleone. 
It  would  be  better  for  her,  too,  to  go  back  to  the 
convent,  to  the  ih^ar  old  nuns  who  knew  her  and 
had  loved  her  and  would  take  her  back  as  a  sister, 
now,  to  end  her  days  in  peace  and  innocence  and 
devotion.  Her  name  should  be  forgotten,  and 
while  she  lived  she  could  pray  that  the  evil  of 
it  might  be  forgiven  and  tlie  remembrance  of  it 
blotted  out  among  men. 

Once  or  twice  she  had  sj^oken  in  this  way  to 
Orsino,  but  lie  had  stoppt^l  lier  su  Idenly  and 
almost  rouglily.  Come  what  miglit,  he  meant  to 
marry  h(U',  and  lie  would.  That  was  all  he  said, 
but  he  meant  it,  and  she  had  moments  of  belief 
when  she  heard  the  words  and  saw  his  face. 


COliLEONE 


319 


1  in  the 
Y  not  to 
!;iry  not 
»o  (leso- 
for  her 
v\y  on. 
t.i  or  a 
st  gone 
he  had 
lie  Jiad 
it  there 
lat  this 
ig  must 
;  alone, 
)i'leone. 
to  tlie 
lor  and 
.  sister, 
ice  and 
'n,  and 
evil  of 
e  of   it 

way  to 
ly  and 
eant  to 
e  said, 
:'  belief 


He  admitted,  when  she  pressed  liini,  that  m-i- 
ther  his  father  nor  his  mother  wouhl  at  present 
give  their  consent,  and  that  tlicro  was  little  to 
choose  between  them,  and  that  tliey  Avere  p('()[)le 
whose  minds  being. once  ma(h'  up,  wouhl  nut  easily 
change.  And  Yittoria  sadly  answered  that  they 
were  right,  and  that  she  should  feel  and  act  as 
Corona  did,  were  she  in  Corona's  place.  Vet  still 
Orsino  smiled  gravely  and  said  that  they  should 
not  hinder  him  at  the  hist,  I'oi-  that  he,  too,  had 
made  up  his  mind,  ami  that  he  was  their  sou  and 
like  them,  and  could  be  as  stubb(jrn  as  thev.  Vit- 
toria  could  not  say  that  Orsiuo  had  ouee  wavered 
in  his  determination  since  that  night  when  he  had 
kissed  her  on  the  bridge  outside  the  ballroom,  lie 
was  always  tlu^  same,  and  it  was  small  wonder 
that  her  weariness  should  find  rest  in  his  sticuiuth. 
But  when  he  was  gone,  her  courage  sank  again. 

She  was  seated  alone  one  ai'ternoou  in  .Mrs.  Slay- 
back's  drawing-room.  The  two  ladies  were  out, 
but  Yittoria  would  not  drive  Avith  them  in  their 
big  open  carriage,  to  me<'t  her  old  accpiaintauces 
and  to  feel  that  she  was  ])ointed  out  va^  the  sister 
of  Tebaldo  Pagliuca,  who  had  betrayed  Manro  and 
his  l)an(l.  She  went  for  little  walks  in  the  luorn- 
ing  with  Miss  Lizzie,  bid'ore  it  was  hot.  and  some- 
times in  the  arternot)n  she  took  a  (dosed  cab  and 
drove  to  the  convent  to  see  hei-  mother.  To-day 
she  was  at  home,  and  slu'  had  come  into  the  draw- 


320 


CO U LEONE 


ing-rooin  and  estiiblislied  herself  in  the  corner  of 
a  sofa,  with  a  book,  trying  to  read.  But  she  could 
not  care  for  wliat  the  book  said,  and  the  volume 
dropped  upon  her  lap,  while  Inu'  liead  fell  back 
and  tlie  low  suidight  filtered  tlirough  the  blinds 
and  gihUMl  her  brown  hair,  leaving  her  sad  young 
face  all  in  the  shadow. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened  wide,  and  one  of  the 
servants  of  the  hotel  announced  a  visitor,  in  a 
pompous  tone. 

''The  Signorina  Basili!"  he  said,  waited  for 
Aliandra  to  enter,  and  he  closed  the  door. 

Aliandra  came  in  swiftly  and  stood  before  Vit- 
toria,  who  lialf  rose  from  Iter  seat,  startled  by  the 
singer's  sudden  appearance.  Aliandra  lield  some- 
thing in  her  luind.  She  had  never  seen  Vittoria, 
and  th(^  sunlight  nuule  the  girl's  liair  look  fair. 
She  had  oi'dered  th(^  servant  to  show  her  to  ^Eiss 
Slav])a('k's  drawin<^-room  witliout  announcing:  her, 
and  slie  naturally  to(»k  Vittoria  for  iNIiss  Lizzie. 
Her  handsonu3  face  was  faintly  flushed  with  anger 
and  excitement,  and  her  dark  eyes  gleamed. 

"I  have  brought  you  this,"  she  said,  holding 
out  the  Moscio's  ])a,r('(d,  "from  the  man  who  has 
deceived  us  ])()tli,  who  wishtul  to  marry  you  and 
ruin  me,  who  has  come  back  to  nuiriy  you  now  —  " 

''Who?  What?"  asked  Vittoria,  half  fright- 
ened, but  mechanically  taking  thc^  ])arcel. 

"Tebaldo    I'agliuca,"    answered    Aliandra,    too 


vnev  of 
le  could 
volume 
11  back 
blinds 
young 

of  tlie 
L',    in  a 

;ed   for 

>re  Vit- 
by  the 
some- 
ittoria, 
k  fair, 
o  Miss 
II g  her, 
Lizzie. 


anger 


lolding 
ho  has 
)u  and 


COBLEONE 


321 


TW 


5) 


fi'ight- 


a,    too 


much  excited  to  notice  that  Vittoria  spoke  in 
Italian  with  an  Italian's  accent.  ''Tebaldo  Pa- 
gliuca,  who  betrayed  his  friends  the  outlaws  to 
death,  Tebaldo  Pagliuca,  who  is  trying  to  marry 
you  for  your  fortune,  Tebaldo  Pagliuca,  who  killed 
his  own  brother  Francesco  on  the  steps  of  the  altar 
with  tlie  knife  that  is  in  that  package  —  " 

"  Merciful  God !  "  The  young  girl's  voice  rang 
breaking  through  the  room,  as  she  sank  l)ack. 

"  Tebaldo  Pagliuca,  who  confessed  the  crime  to 
the  priest,"  continued  Aliandra,  working  herself 
into  a  fury, "who  accused  the  priest  of  the  murder, 
knowing  that  he  would  die  witli  tlie  secret  rather 
than  betray  a  confession  —  Tebaldo  Pagliuca,  the 
traitor,  the  betrayer,  the  false  accuser,  the  mur- 
derer! The  story  is  there,  Avith  the  knife,  in  the 
paper  —  read  it,  and  give  hiin  liis  answer  when  he 
comes  to-day  to  kiss  your  hands  —  " 

'*'  Mercy  of  Heaven !  iMercy  of  God !  "  moaned 
Vittoria,  still  too  strong  to  faint  or  not  to  hear  and 
understand  every  word. 

Aliandra  believed  that  she  had  done  what  she 
had  come  to  do.  She  had  foiled  Tebaldo  effect- 
ually and  for  ever  in  any  attempt  he  might  make 
to  marry  the  American  heiress.  With  a  glance  at 
the  girl's  bent  head,  and  at  the  soft,  brown  hair 
that  looked  so  fair  in  the  flecks  of  sunshine,  she 
turned  and  left  the  room  as  cj^uickly  as  she  liad 
entered  it. 


VOL.   II.  — Y 


EM^ji  ^ 


m 


322 


CO U LEONE 


Vittoria  started  as  she  lieard  the  door  close, 
looked  up,  and  then  glanced  at  tlie  package  in  her 
hand.  She  did  not  quite  remember  what  she  did 
after  that,  till  she  found  herself  locked  into  her 
own  room,  breaking  the  violet  seals  from  tlie  bro"^n 
paper,  cutting  the  string  with  her  nail  scissors, 
tearing  the  stout  paper  to  ])ieces  with  her  little 
hands,  her  lieart  beating  with  horror  and  her  eyes 
already  frightened  by  the  expectation  of  the  knife 
they  were  to  see.  She  saw  it,  a  moment  later,  and 
then  her  heart  stood  still,  for  she  liad  seen  it  many 
times  in  Tebaldo's  room,  during  tliat  winter,  and 
once  she  had  borrowed  it  of  him  to  cut  a  strong 
cord  from  a  parcel. 

Then  came  the  letter,  and  the  long  and  painful 
reading  of  the  hideous  tale.  She  spent  a  terri- 
ble half  liour,  and  then  slie  sat  still  for  a  long 
time,  and  her  face  was  almost  restful.  At  last 
she  rose,  quite  calm  and  decided,  and  ])egan  to 
dress  herself  to  go  out.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
she  was  ready,  and  she  went  downstairs  alone  and 
told  the  porter  to  get  her  a  cab. 

"Palazzo  Saracinesca,"  she  said  to  the  cabman, 
"and  drive  under  the  gate!  " 

She  went  up  the  great  staircase  and  asked  for 
Corona.  The  footman  liesitated  to  say  Avhether 
the  Princi^ss  would  receive  or  not.  Vittoria  fixed 
her  eyes  on  liim  and  spoke  quietly  in  a  tone  he 
understood. 


COULEONE 


Z'^i 


close, 

ill  her 
;lie  did 
ito  her 

bro"^ii 
iissors, 
r  little 
er  eyes 
e  knife 
er,  and 
t  many 
er,  and 

strong 

painful 
I  terri- 
a  long 
kt  last 
gan  to 
n  hour 
ne  and 

abman, 

ced  for 
r^hether 
ia  fixed 
ione  he 


"Be  good  enough  to  take  me  to  the  Prinees.s's 
room,''  slie  said.     "  The  matter  is  urgent/' 

^  She  followed  the  man  through  the  h,ng  succes- 
sion of  state  drawing-rooms  till  he  kmK'ked  at  a 
side  door,  and  immediately  o[)ene(l  it  inwanls. 

Corona  was  at  her  table,  writing  a  note.  She 
looked  up  quickly,  bending  licr  brows,  and  rose 
rather  formally.  She  had  always  liked  Vitloria 
for  herself,  but  she  had  good  cause  to  liate  her 
name,  and  she  had  avoided  the  possibility  of  nuiet- 
ing  the  lonely  girl  of  late.  Vittoria  went  forward 
and  spoke  first. 

"I  should  not  liave  come  to  you  for  a  small 
matter,"  she  said.  "But  I  have  come  to  make  a 
reparation." 

"There  is  none  to  make,"  answered  Corona. 
"You  have  done  nothing  —  "  She  paused,  not 
understanding. 

"You  shall  see.  Will  you  sit  down?  It  may 
take  some  time  to  exphain  — or,  rather,  to  read. 
There  is  only  one  question  which  I  juust  ask 
you  first.  Has  Don  Ippolito  Ijeen  acquitted  or 
not  ?  " 

Corona's  face  darkened. 

"He  has  not,"  she  answered.  "He  is  at  liberty 
on  San  Giacinto's  security." 

"Here  are  the  proofs  of  his  innocence,"  said 
Vittoria,,  simi)ly,  as  she  produced  her  package,  and 
laid  it  on  Corona's  lap. 


324 


COBLEONE 


Corona  opened  her  eyes  in  surprise,  and  her 
expression  clianged. 

"  My  brother  Tebaklo  did  it,"  continued  Vittoria. 
*'  He  forced  your  son,  as  a  priest,  to  hear  his  con- 
fession, because  Don  Ippolito  surprised  him  in  the 
church.  Then  he  accused  him  of  the  murder, 
knowing  that  he  wouhl  kee})  the  secret." 

Corona  stared,  realized  what  the  girl  meant,  and 
suddenly  grasped  her  wrist,  looking  into  her  face. 
She  saw  the  truth  there,  but  Vittoria  understood 
the  doubt. 

'"When  you  have  read,  you  will  understand  bet- 
ter," said  the  young  girl,  pointing  to  the  package. 

Corona  said  nothing,  but  her  lingers  were  quick 
to  find  the  letter.  Vittoria  rose  softly  and  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Her  hands  rested 
on  the  cold  stone  sill  and  twitched  nervously  from 
time  to  time,  but  she  would  not  turn  round.  She 
knew  that  what  was  shame  and  liorror  to  her,  was 
the  joy  of  heaven  to  the  mother  of  the  accused 
man.  Corona  read  in  silence,  intently,  quickly, 
almost  des})erately. 

She  was  a  generous  woman.  When  she  had 
finished,  and  the  weight  had  fallen  from  her  heart 
at  last,  she  rose  and  went  to  Vittoria.  The  girl 
heard  her  step  and  turned.  Corona  was  holding 
out  both  hands. 

"What  sliall  I  do  to  make  you  know  how  grate- 
ful I  am?  ''  she  asked. 


: 


CORLEOXE 


32; 


.') 


id   her 

ittoria. 
is  con- 
.  in  the 
aurder, 

lit,  and 
!r  face, 
erstood 

,nd  bet- 
ckage. 
e  quick 
id  went 
rested 
ly  from 
I.  She 
er,  was 
accused 
[uickly, 

he  had 
3r  heart 
?he  girl 
hokling 

,v  grate- 


"What  shouhl  you  do?"  asb^I  Vittoria,  sadlv. 
"It  was  justice,  so  I  came  at  once.  The  groat 
singer  — the  Basili  — came  into  the  room  an  liour 
ago.  I  was  alone.  She  took  me  for  ^Nliss  Slay- 
back,  with  whom  I  am  staying,  and  before  I  couhl 
speak  she  had  told  the  trutli  and  given  mv  the 
package  and  was  gone.  So  I  brought  it  to  you. 
I  trust  you  to  spare  my  poor  brother  if  you  can. 
Keep  the  secret,  if  you  can,  now  that  you  know 
the  truth.  Perhaps  something  else  may  prove 
Don  Ippolito  innocent,  long  before  the  trial.  But 
if  nothing  else  will  do  — why  then,  you  have  his 
innocence  in  your  hands." 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Corona.  "Where  is 
your  brother?  " 

"I  do  not  know.  It  is  several  days  since  he  has 
telegraphed.  He  never  writes.  The  Basili  spoke 
as  though  he  were  in  Bome,  but  I  do  not  tliink  he 
is.  I  will  go  home,  please.  I  am  a  little  tired. 
You  will  keep  the  secret  if  you  can,  will  you 
not?" 

"Yes.  No  one  shall  know  it  unless  it  is  neces- 
sary.    But  you,  child  —  " 

She  put  her  arm  round  Yittoria,  for  the  girl 
looked  shadowy  and  faint,  as  she  leaned  against 
the  table  by  the  window.  Yittoria  straiglitened 
herself,  and  opened  and  shut  her  eyes  once  or 
twice  as  though  waking. 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter,"  she  said  rather 


r 

Ik 

r 


i:^ 


326 


COBLEONE 


proudly.  '•  I  am  very  well.  I  am  glad  that  you 
are  happy." 

"You  have  given  me  back  my  life,"  answered 
Corona.  "  Some  day  —  but  there  are  no  thanks 
for  such  things." 

Vittoria  began  to  go  towards  the  door.  She 
wanted  no  thanks,  yet  somehow  she  had  hoped 
that  Corona  would  speak  differently,  remembering 
how  she  had  once  been  left  by  her  with  Orsino  in 
that  very  room.  The  Princess  walked  with  her  to 
the  hall. 

"I  shall  not  forget  this,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
almost  solemnly,  as  she  pressed  the  passive  little 
hand.     "  I  shall  come  and  see  you  soon." 

As  Vittoria  drove  back  to  the  Piazza  Barberini, 
she  felt  as  though  the  very  desolation  of  loneliness 
were  beside  her  in  the  shabbv  little  cab.  But 
Corona  had  never  been  a  woman  of  many  words, 
and  she  meant  more  than  she  said  Avhen  she  told 
Vittoria  tliat  she  should  not  fori^et. 


lat  you 

iswered 
thanks 


r.  She 
hoped 
nbering 
:sino  in 
L  her  to 

e  said, 
re  little 

rberini, 
leliness 
b.  But 
words, 
■ihe  told 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

CoROXA  regretted  the  promise  of  secrecy  wliich 
Vittoria  had  obtained  from  her,  as  soon  as  she 
found  herself  alone  and  able  to  think  over  tlie 
situation  calmly.  She  had  no  secrets  from  her 
husband,  and  few  of  any  kind,  and  it  was  hard  to 
keep  silence  when  Giovanni  discussed  Ippolito's 
position  and  the  possibilities  of  obtaining  the 
evidence  necessary  to  clear  Ippolito.  She  liad, 
indeed,  the  sort  of  satisfaction  wliich  a  woman 
feels  all  the  more  keenly  when  she  feels  it  ah:)ne, 
with  the  certainty  that  everyone  else  will  soon 
know  what  she  knows,  for  she  saw  tluit  Ip])olito 
had  behaved  with  almost  heroic  constancy.  But 
she  would  soon  begin  to  long  for  the  moment  wlien 
others  should  see  tl^at  he  was  a  hero. 

Being  naturally  a  calm  woman,  and  somcwliat 
reserved,  even  with  her  own  family,  her  face  did 
not  betray  her  at  first.  Yet  she  hardly  dared  to 
look  at  Ippolito  that  evening,  lest  her  happiness 
should  break  like  light  from  her  eyes. 

Her  difficulty  was  a  considerable  one,  however, 
and  puzzled  her  at  first.     In  lier  own   room  she 

327 


328 


CORLEONE 


h    V 


ii\ 


read  and  re-read  the  Moscio's  letter,  and  her 
niaturer  judgment  told  her  what  neither  Aliandra 
nor  Vittoria  had  understood  in  their  impetuosity. 
The  law  would  look  u})on  this  so-called  evidence 
as  a  piece  of  vengeance  on  the  part  of  a  brigand, 
and  wouhl  attach  liotle  value  to  it.  Why,  the  law 
would  ask,  since  tlie  brigand  professed  to  hold 
proofs  that  could  ruin  his  enemy,  had  he  not  sent 
them  to  the  carabineers?  The  answer  must  take 
the  very  unsatisfactory  form  of  a  dissertation  on 
Sicilian  character  in  general,  and  on  that  of  the 
Moscio  in  particular;  whereas,  while  he  was  still 
at  large,  his  character  could  be  but  an  unknown 
quantit}^  It  might  be  proved,  of  course,  that  the 
knife  liad  belonged  to  Tebaldo.  But  it  would  be 
hard  to  show  how  the  ^Moscio  had  come  by  it.  To 
demonstrate  Ippolito's  innocence,  something  more 
was  necessary. 

Corona  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  see 
Tebaldo  himself  and  force  him  to  a  confession  of 
his  crime.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  fear  such  a 
meeting  nor  even  to  hesitate,  after  she  had  once 
made  up  her  mind.  The  diificulty  lay  in  finding 
the  man  immediately.  She  did  not  believe  that 
Vittoria  had  deceived  lier  in  saying  that  she  did 
not  know  wliere  her  brother  might  be,  but  she 
supposed  that  he  would  soon  come  to  Rome,  and 
decided  to  wait  for  liim.  She  sent  frequently  to 
enquire  at  the  house  where  the  Corleoue  had  lived. 


COIiLEOXE 


329 


The  servants  knew  nothing.  Slie  wrote  a  note  to 
Vittoria  at  Airs.  Playback's,  but  Vittoria  had  no 
news. 

Corona  wrote  to  the  Minister  of  Justice.  8he 
knew  him  very  well,  and  told  him  that  in  the 
matter  of  the  accusation  against  her  son  she 
wished  to  communicate  witli  T)on  Tebaldo  Pa- 
gliuca,  but  could  not  find  out  where  lie  was.  To 
her  surprise  the  Minister's  answer  gave  her  the 
information  she  wished.  Tebaldo,  said  the  note, 
was  dangerously  ill  in  Messina  at  a  certain  hotel. 
Owing  to  the  strong  feeling  which  existed  against 
him  in  Sicily,  it  had  been  thought  necessary  to 
protect  him,  and  the  government  was,  therefore, 
kept  constantly  apprised  of  his  condition  through 
the  office  of  the  prefect  of  Messina.  He  was  very 
ill  indeed,  and  was  not  expected  to  recover. 

The  information  was  clear,  but  the  thought  that 
Tebaldo  might  die  without  having  cleared  Ippolito 
was  anything  but  reassuring.  Corona's  instinct 
was  to  start  at  once,  but  she  remembered  her 
promise  to  Vittoria,  and  did  not  see  how  she  could 
make  such  a  journey  without  informing  lier  hus- 
band and  giving  some  explanation  of  her  conduct. 
She  went  to  his  room  as  soon  as  she  knew  Avhat 

she  must  do. 

"  Giovanni,"  slie  said,  "  I  wish  you  to  go  to  Sicily 
with  me  at  once.     I  must  go  to  Messina." 

Giovanni  looked  at  her  sharply  in  sur[)rise. 


330 


COBLEOyE 


i 


I'i 


|!«if 


"Are  you  il^  my  d^ar?"  he  enquired.  "Is  it 
for  11  change?     Is  anything  the  matter?" 

Corona  hiughed,  for  she  had  never  been  ill  in 
lier  life.     The  mere  idea  seemed  ludicrous  to  her. 

"Can  vou  imagine  me  ill?"  slie  asked.  "No. 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  can.  Someone  has  told  me 
something,  making  me  promise  not  to  tell  anyone 
else  —  " 

"Your  informant  is  a  woman,  dear,"  observed 
Giovanni,  smiling. 

"Never  mind  wlio  it  was.  But  from  what  was 
told  me  I  know  that  if  I  can  go  to  jVIessina  I  can 
get  evidem'.e  wliich  will  clear  Ippolito  completely. 
So  I  came  to  you." 

"Are  you  pL -litively  sure?"  asked  Sant'  Ilario. 
"  It  is  a  long  journey." 

"We  sliall  travel  together,"  answered  Corona, 
as  though  tliat  answered  every  objection. 

"I  should  like  it  very  much.  Do  you  wish  to 
start  to-day?" 

"  Ves.  The  man  is  said  to  be  dying  at  a  hotel 
in  i^^essina." 

It  amused  them  both  to  make  a  mystery  of  going 
away  togetlier,  tliough  it  was  not  the  tirsc  time 
tliat  tliey  had  done  such  a  thing,  a,nd  Sant'  Ilario's 
presence  liglit«uied  tiie  anxiety  which  Ct)rona  still 
felt  as  to  tlie  rt>sult  of  th(^  journey. 

They  readied  iMcssina  at  evening  and  drove  to 
the  wretclied  hotel  where  T'ebiildo  lay  dyiug,  for 


w 


U  '• 


>%\ 


coil  LEONE 


331 


"Is   it 

a  ill  in 
bo  her. 
"Xo. 
bold  me 
anyone 

bserved 

lat  was 
la  I  can 
)letely. 

Ilario. 

!^orona, 

\^ish  to 

I  hotel 


(r 

f3 


f  goin 
t  time 
lai'io's 
la  still 

•ove  to 

iig,  for 


there  was  no  otlior  in  the  city,  in  wliich  tliey  "ould 
have  lodged  at  all. 

Half  an  honr  later  Corona  entered  the  sick 
man's  room.  The  sister  wlio  was  mirsiiig  jiiin 
rose  in  snrprise  as  the  Princess  entered,  and  laid 
her  finger  on  her  lips.  Tebaldo  appeared  to  be 
asleep. 

"Is  he  better?"  Avhis])ered  Corona. 

Bnt  the  sister  shook  her  head  and  pointed  to  his 
face.  It  was  like  a  yellow  sliudow  on  the  white 
pillow,  in  the  soft  liglit  of  tlie  single  candle,  be- 
fore which  tlie  nnrse  had  set  a  book  ni)right  on 
the  table,  as  a  shade. 

Corona  stood  still  by  tlie  side  of  the  l)ed  and 
looked  down  at  what  remained  of  the  man  wlio 
had  done  snch  terrible  deeds  during  the  last 
month.  The  colourless  lips  were  parted  and  dis- 
idayed  the  shar]),  wliiti;  teeth,  and  the  haU'-grown 
beard  gave  sonn^thing  wolfish  to  the  face.  The 
lids  were  not  (piite  (dosed  and  sIk  wed  the  whites 
of  the  eves.  C/orona  felt  suddenlv  that  he  was 
going  to  die  in  his  unconsciousness  without  s])e;ik- 
ing.  Even  if  he  revived  for  a  monii'nt,  he  might 
not  nnderstand  her.  Th.e  candh^  dickered,  and  she 
thought  the  lids  ([uivered. 

"He  is  dying,''  she  said  in  a,  low  voice.  "But 
he  must  speak  to  me  before  he  dies." 

"Are  yon  his  mother,  madam'.'*"  iisked  the 
sister,  in  a  whisper. 


332 


CORLEOXE 


"Xo!"  Corona's  great  eyes  blazed  upon  the 
nun's  face.  Then  she  spoke  gently  again.  "I 
am  the  mother  of  the  priest  he  falsely  accused. 
Before  lie  dies  he  must  tell  the  truth." 

A  faint  smile  moved  th^  wasted  lips,  and  the 
lids  slowly  opened.  Then  he  spoke,  almost 
naturally. 

"You  have  come  to  see  me  die.     I  understand." 

"No,"  said  Corona,  speaking  clearly  and  dis- 
tinctly. "I  have  come  to  hear  the  truth  about 
my  son,  from  your  own  lips,  as  I  know  it  from 
others  —  " 

The  yellow  face  shivered  and  the  eyes  stared. 
There  was  a  convulsive  effort  of  the  head  to  rise 
from  the  pillow. 

"Who  told  you?"  The  question  gurgled  in  the 
throat. 

"  Your  sister  told  me  —  " 

"T  have  no  sister."  The  head  fell  back  again, 
and  the  twisting  smile  took  possession  of  the 
lips. 

"  V^ittoria  is  your  sister.  You  are  Tebaldo  Pagli- 
uca."  Corona  bimt  down  towards  him  anxiously, 
for  she  feared  that  lie  was  wandering,  and  that  the 
truth  must  escape  lier  at  last. 

"Oh  no!  Vittoria  is  not  my  sister.  I  remem- 
ber when  sli(»  was  l)i'ouglit  to  Camaldoli  by  the 
outlaws  when  I  was  a  boy." 

Corona  bent  lower  still  and  stared  into  the  open 


cu 


CORLEONE 


333 


eyes.     Their   expression   Avas    quite    natural    and 
quiet,  though  the  voice  was  faint  now. 

"It  is  better  that  someone  should  knoAV,"  it 
said.  "  I  know,  because  I  saw  her  brought.  The 
brigands  stole  her  from  her  nurse's  arms.  \^it- 
toria  is  the  daughter  of  Fornasco.  They  fright- 
ened my  father  and  mother  —  they  brought  the 
ciiild  at  night  —  in  trying  to  get  a  ransom  they 
were  all  taken,  but  none  of  them  would  tell  —  there 
is  a  paper  of  my  father's,  sealed  —  in  Rome,  among 
my  things.  He  always  said  that  we  might  be 
accused,  though  they  managed  to  make  people 
believe  it  was  my  mother's  child,  for  fear  of  tlie 
brigands  —  I  cannot  tell  you  all  that.  You  will 
find  it  in  the  papers." 

The  eyelids  closed  again,  but  the  lips  still 
moved.     Corona  bent  down. 

"Water,"  said  the  parched  whisper. 

They  gave  him  drink  quickly,  but  he  could 
hardly  swallow  it.     He  was  going  fast. 

"Call  the  doctor,"  said  Corona  to  the  nurse. 
"He  is  dying.  Has  he  seen  a  priest'.''  Call  my 
husband ! " 

"I  had  sent  for  a  priest,"  answered  the  nurse, 
leaving  the  room  liastily. 

For  many  minutes  Tebaldo  gasped  painfully 
for  breatli.  In  his  suffering  Corona  raised  the 
pillow  with  his  head  upon  it,  tenderly  and  care- 
fully. 


I 


33i 


CORLEONE 


W\ 


i  -,ii 


"You  are  dying,"  she  said  softly.  ''Commend 
your  soul  —  pray  for  forgiveness !  " 

It  was  horrible  to  her  belief  to  see  him  dying 
unconfessed  in  his  many  sins. 

"Quickly  —  lose  no  time!"  she  urged.  "ThMik 
of  God  —  think  of  one  prayer!  It  may  be  too  late 
in  a  moment  —  " 

"Too  late?"  he  cried  suddenly,  with  a  revival 
of  strength.  "Too  late?  But  I  shall  catch  him 
on  the  hill!  Gallop,  mare,  gallop  —  there,  there! 
So!  We  shall  do  it  yet.  I  am  lighter  than  old 
Basili!  One  more  stretch!  There  he  is!  Gallop, 
nuire,  gallop,  for  I  shall  catch  him  on  the  hill!  " 

One  hand  grasped  the  sheet  like  a  bridle,  the 
other  patted  it  encouragingly.  Corona  stared  and 
listened  breathlessly,  half  in  horror,  half  in  expec- 
tation. She  did  not  hear  the  door  open,  as  some- 
one came  in.     The  dying  man  raved  on. 

"What?  Down?  He  has  killed  his  horse?  It 
shied  at  the  Avonian  in  black!  lie  will  try  the 
cnL'j'ch  door  —  on,  mare,  gallop!  We  shall  catch 
him  there!  " 

A  hideous  glare  of  rage  and  hatred  was  in  the 
burning  eyes.  The  twisted  and  discoloured  lips 
set  themselves  like  blue  steel.  The  right  hand 
struck  cmt  Avildlv.  Th<ui  tlie  eves  tixed  them- 
selves  upon  the  young  jiriest  wlio  stood  beside 
Corona,  and  whom  she  had  not  seen  till  tlien. 

Tebaldo  sat  up  as   though  raised  by  a  sjU'ing 


O) 


CORLEONE 


335 


Ig 


suddenly.  He  grasped  the  priest's  ready  hands 
and  looked  up  into  his  face,  seeing  only  him, 
though  the  doctor  and  the  nurse  were  close  by. 

"I  confess  to  Almighty  God,"  he  began  — 

And  word  for  word,  as  he  had  confessed  to 
Ippolito  alone  in  the  little  church,  he  went 
through  the  whole  confession,  (piickly,  clearly, 
in  a  loud  voice,  holding  the  priest's  hands. 

Who  should  say  that  it  was  not  a  true  confession 
now?  That  at  the  last,  the  dream  of  terror  did 
not  change  to  the  reality  of  remorse?  The  priest's 
voice  spoke  the  words  of  forgiveness,  and  he  bent 
down  above  Corona's  kneeling  figure,  that  the 
dying  man  might  hear. 

But  before  the  last  merciful  word  was  spoken, 
the  last  of  the  Corleone  lay  stone  dead  on  his  pil- 
low. He  was  buried  beside  his  two  brothers  in 
the  little  cemetery  of  Santa  Vittoria,  for  the  sister 
had  promised  him  that,  when  he  knew  that  he  was 
dying. 

And  outside  the  gate,  when  it  was  all  over,  a 
figure  in  black  came  and  knelt  down  upon  the 
rough,  broken  stones,  and  two  wliite  hands  grasped 
the  i)ainted  iron  rails,  and  a  low  voice  came  from 
beneatli  the  little  black  sliawl. 

"Mother  of  God,  three  black  crosses!  Mother 
of  God,  three  black  crosses !  " 

And  there  wei'c  three  black  crosses,  side  ])y  side. 


CHAPTER  XL 


I 


It  might  have  been  a  long  and  difficult  matter 
to  establish  Vittoria's  identity,  if  JNIaria  Carolina 
had  been  really  insane,  as  it  had  been  feared  that 
she  might  be.  She  was  beyond  further  suffering, 
perhaps,  when  the  third  of  her  sons  was  dead,  but 
her  mind  was  clear  enough  under  the  intense 
religious  melancholy  that  had  settled  upon  her  in 
her  grief.  The  fact  of  her  having  been  willing 
and  anxious  to  leave  Vittoria  at  such  a  time  now 
explained  itself.  I'he  girl  was  not  her  daughter, 
and  in  the  intensity  of  her  sorrow  the  bereaved 
mother  felt  that  she  was  a  stranger,  if  not  a  bur- 
den. Yet  she  kept  the  secret,  out  of  a  sort  of  fear 
that  even  after  eighteen  years  the  revelation  of  it 
might  bring  about  some  unimaginably  dreadful 
consequence  to  herself,  and  as  though  tlie  Duca  di 
Fornasco  coi.ld  still  accuse  lier  of  having  helped 
to  steal  his  child,  by  receiving  her  from  the 
brigands. 

The  fact  was  that  the  outlaws  had  terrified  the 

Corleone  at  tlie  time,  threatening  them  with  total 

destruction  if  they  refused  to  conceal  the  infant. 

336 


CORLEONE 


337 


matter 
■irolina 
d  til  at 
fering, 
id,  but 
ntense 
her  in 
villing 
e  now 
igliter, 
reaved 
a  bur- 
3f  fear 
L  of  it 
eadful 
uca  di 
lelped 
n    the 

id  the 
1  total 
iifant. 


They  were  poor  and  lived  in  an  isolated  neigh- 
bourhood, more  or  less  in  fear  of  their  lives,  at  a 
time  when  brigandage  was  the  rule,  and  when  the 
many  bands  that  existed  in  the  island  Avere  under 
the  general  direction  of  the  terrible  Leone.  They 
had  yielded  and  had  kept  the  secret  with  Sicilian 
reticence.  Tebaldo  alone  had  been  old  enough  to 
partly  understand  the  truth,  but  his  father  had 
told  him  the  whole  story  before  dying,  and  had  left 
him  a  clearly  written  account  of  it,  in  case  of  any 
future  difficulty.  But  Maria  Carolina  was  alive 
still,  and  sane,  and  she  told  the  truth  clearly  and 
connectedly  to  a  lawyer,  for  she  was  glad  to  sever 
her  last  tie  with  the  world,  and  glad,  perhaps, 
that  the  stolen  child  should  go  back  to  her  own 
people  after  all.  Among  her  possessions  were 
the  clothes  and  tiny  ornaments  the  infant  had 
worn. 

Vittoria's  first  sensation  when  she  knew  the 
truth  was  that  of  a  captive  led  into  tlie  open  air 
after  years  of  confinement  in  a  poisonous  air. 

She  had  been  the  daughter  of  a  race  of  ill  fame, 
fatherless,  and  all  but  motherless.  Her  tliree 
brothers  had  come  to  evil  ends,  one  by  one.  She 
had  been  left  alone  in  the  world,  the  last  rei)re- 
sentative  of  what  so  many  called  'the  worst  blood 
in  Italy.'  She  liad  ])een  divided  from  the  man  she 
loved  by  a  twofold  ))lo()dslieel  and  by  all  the  horror 
of  her  last  surviving  brother's  crimes.     Many  raid 

VOL.    II.  —  A 


li^ 


338 


con  LEONE 


many  a  time  she  had  stared  into  lier  mirror  for  an 
hour  at  night,  not  })leased  by  liei'  own  delicate 
loveliness,  but  asking  herself,  with  heartbroken 
wonder,  how  it  was  possible  that  she  could  be  the 
daughter  of  such  a  mother,  tlie  sister  of  such 
brothers,  the  grandchild  of  traitors  and  betrayers 
to  generations  of  wickedness,  back  into  the  dim 
past.  She  liad  never  been  like  them,  nor  felt  like 
them,  not  acted  as  they  did,  yet  it  had  seemed 
mad,  if  not  wicked,  to  doubt  that  she  was  one  of 
them.  And  each  morning,  meeting  them  all  again 
and  living  with  them,  there  had  come  the  shock 
of  opposition  between  lier  iidieritance  of  honour 
and  their  inborn  disposition  to  treachery  and 
crime. 

And  now,  it  was  not  true.  There  was  not  one 
drop  of  their  blood  in  her  veins.  There  was  not 
in  her  one  taint  of  all  tliat  line  of  wickedness.  It 
had  all  been  a  mistake  and  a  dream  and  an  illusion 
of  fate,  and  she  awoke  in  the  moriiing  and  w^as 
free  —  free  to  face  the  world,  to  face  Corona  Sara- 
cinesca,  to  marry  Orsino,  witliout  so  nnich  as  a 
day  of  mourning  for  thos-e  who  had  been  called  her 
brotliers. 

The  fresh  young  blood  came  blusliing  back  to 
the  delicate  clieeks,  and  tln^  radiance  of  liio's 
S])ring  }il;iyed  on  the  fair  young  iiead. 

"How  beautiful  you  are!''  exclaimed  Miss  Liz- 
zie, throwing  lier  arms  round  her. 


COnLEONE 


339 


'  for  an 
lelicate 
ibroken 

be  the 
f  such 
trayers 
le  dim 
At  like 
seemed 
one  of 
1  again 

sliock 
honour 
y    and 

ot  one 
as  not 
ss.  It 
lUision 
id  was 
I  Sara- 
li  as  a 
led  her 

ack  to 
liio's 

ss  Liz- 


And  Vittoria  bhisbed  again,  and  her  eyes  glis- 
tened with  sheer,  unbounded  liai)|)iness. 

"But   I    shnll  never  know   wJuit  to  call  you," 
lauglied  Miss  Lizzie. 

•  "  I  am  Vittoria  still,"  ;ins\ver(Ml  the  other.  "  Ihit 
I  am  Vittoria  Spinelli  — and  1  <.,)in.'  of  very 
respectable  people!"  She  laughed  happily.  -"l 
am  related  to  all  kinds  of  r(^spe('tabk'  ptMjple! 
There  is  my  fa,ther,  hrst.  He  is  on  liis  way  to  see 
me  — and  I  have  a  brother— a,  real  brother,  to  be 
proud  of.  And  J  am  the  cousin  of  ^l^upiisara  of 
Guardia  — but  I  am  Vittoria  still!  " 

Rome   went    half  mad  over  the  story,   for  tlie 
Romans  had  all  been  inclined  to  like  Vittoria  for 
her   own   sake   wliile   distrusting   tliose   wlio    had 
composed  lier  family.     Tlie  instinct  of  an  old  and 
conservative  society  is   very  raridy  wrong  in  suidi 
matters.     Tlie  hai)py  ending  of  the  tragedy  ol'  the 
Corleone   was   a   sincere   ndief    to   everyone;    and 
many  who  had  known  the  J)uca  di  Fornasco  in  the 
days  when  his  infant  daughter  had  been  carried  off 
and  had  seen  how  his  whole  life  liad  been  saddened 
during  eighteen  years  by  the  cruid  loss,   rejoiced 
in   the   vast  joy  ot   his   later  years.      For  Jie   had 
many  friends,  and  was  a  nnin  lionoured  ami  loved 
by  those  who  knew  him. 

"I  have  always  believed  that  T  should  Hud  you, 
my  dear  child,"  he  s;iid.  when  his  eyes  had  (deared 
and   he   could   see    Vittoria   through    the   dazzling 


?!t 


f !  ■  » 


if 


■» 


1    iiJ 


340 


CORLEONE 


happiness  of  the  first  meeting.  "  But  I  have  often 
feared  to  find  you,  and  I  never  dared  to  hope  that 
I  shouUl  find  you  what  you  are." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  very  tone  of  his  voice 
was  like  her  own,  as  his  brown  eyes  were  like  hers. 

And  later,  he  took  Orsino's  hand  and  laid  it  in 
his  daughter's  and  pressed  the  two  together. 

"You  loved  more  wisely  than  you  knew,"  he 
said.  "But  1  know  how  bravely  you  loved,  when 
you  would  not  give  her  up,  nor  yield  to  anyone. 
Your  father  will  not  refuse  to  take  my  daughter 
from  my  hands,  I  think." 

"He  will  be  as  proud  to  take  her  as  I  am,"  said 
Orsino. 

"  ( )r  as  I  am  to  give  her  to  such  a  man  as  you." 

8o  Orsino  was  married  at  last,  and  this  tale 
comes  to  its  ha})py  end.  For  he  was  happy,  and 
his  people  took  his  wife  to  themselves  as  one  of 
them,  and  loved  her  for  her  own  sake  as  well  as 
for  his;  and  they  loved  her,  too,  for  the  many 
troubles  she  had  so  bravely  borne,  under  the  dis- 
grace of  a  name  not  her  own.  But  neither  were 
her  sorrows  hers,  any  more. 

"Such  things  can  only  happen  in  Italy,"  said 
Mrs.  Slayback,  after  the  wedding. 

"I  am  glad  that  nothing  worse  happened,"  an- 
swered her  niece,  thoughtfully.  "To  think  that  I 
might  have  married  that  man!  To  think  that  I 
cared  for  liimi     But  I  always  felt  that  Vittoria 


COULEONE 


341 


was  not  his  sister.     It'  1  ever  marry,  I  shall  marry 
an  American." 

She  laughed,  though  there  was  a  little  ache  left 
in  her  heart.  But  she  knew  that  it  would  not  last 
long,  for  she  had  not  been  very  desperately  in 
earnest,  after  all. 


» 


END    OF    VOL.    II 


TAgUISARA. 


BY 


F.  MARION  CRAWFORD, 

Author  of  "Saracint-sca,"  "  Piet/o  Ghislcri"  ''Katharine 
Lauderdale;'  "The  Ralstons,"  etc. 


Two  Volumes.     i6mo.    In  Box,  $2.00. 


*'  Mr.  Crawford  once  more  shows  that  mastery  of  his  art  which  entitles 
him  to  rank  among  the  very  foremost  of  living  novelists.  .  .  .  The  interest 
of  the  reader  is  at  once  compelled,  while  tliere  is  enacted  a  drama  as  dark 
and  terrible  as  some  legend  of  the  Medici  or  the  Borgias,  and  so  exqui- 
site is  the  art  of  the  narrator  that  the  reader's  interest  is  never  suffered  to 
relax. 

" '  Taquisara '  the  Sicilian,  the  Princess  Veronica,  and  the  invalid  Gian- 
luca  are  characters  drawn  with  the  power  and  poetic  feeling  that  M.-.  Craw- 
ford's readers  know  so  well."  —  A'cw  York  Su/i. 

"The  plot  needs  no  telling;  it  is  one  of  Mr.  Crawford's  best,  and  the 
scene,  Naples,  and  the  mountain  country  back  of  it,  united  with  the  char- 
acteristics and  temperaments  of  the  Italian  people,  give  the  noted  author 
splendid  opportunities  to  realize  his  best  work.  Mr.  Crawford  continues 
to  reap  fame  with  every  novel  that  comes  from  his  pen."  —  /lostoii  Budget. 

" '  Taquisarr^u '  in  vigor  of  language  and  sustained  interest  of  plot  easily 
ranks  with  Mr.  Crawford's  best  work,  which,  by  the  way,  is  quite  as  good 
as  the  best  by  any  living  writer."  —  Oneouta  Herald. 

"  '  Taquisara,'  as  its  name  indicates,  is  another  of  Mr.  Crawford's  happily 
told  stories  of  Italian  life,  and  must  fmd  many  admirers.  Here  ilic  author 
is  at  his  best.  He  knows  his  Italy  —  who  could  have  read  his  '  Casa 
Braccio '  and  not  been  conscious  of  it?  In  this  last  novel  the  interest  is 
unflagging,  and  all  the  imaginative  charm  and  literary  force  which  belong 
to  the  author  are  to  be  found." 


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lii':-  ! 


m 


ki 


w  1/ 


fl 

P 

i 

!Ji 

Casa  Braccio. 

BY 

F.  MARION   CRAWFORD. 

WITH   THIRTIlEN    full-page   ILLUSTRATIONS    FROM    DRAWINGS 

BY   CASTAIGNE. 

Buckram.    2  vols.,  in  box.    $2.00. 


PRESS    COMMENTS. 

"  Mr.  Crawford's  latest  novel,  *  Casa  Braccio,'  may  not  improbably  come 
to  be  regarded  as  the  supreme  masterpiece  in  fiction  —  of  the  English  tongue 
at  least  —  that  has  appeared  since  '  Daniel  Deronda.'  Its  breadth  of  human 
emotion,  its  vividness  of  in''ividi.alities,  its  splendor  of  coloring,  all  entitle 
this  novel  to  a  lasting  place  in  the  literature  of  fiction."—  Chicago  Inter- 
Ocean. 

"  Mr.  Crawford  has  won  success  in  two  different  fields  of  fiction.  In  this, 
his  present  work,  he  combines  thes"  fields,  and  wins  a  greater  success  than 
ever.  There  is  but  little  question  i'iat  '  Casa  Braccio '  will  prove  to  be  the 
great  novel  of  the  year."  —  Boston  Da'ly  AdTcrtiser. 

"We  are  grateful  when  Mr.  Crawtord  keeps  to  his  Italy.  The  poetry 
and  enchantment  of  the  land  pre  all  his  own,  and  'Casa  Braccio'  gives 
promise  of  being  his  masterpiece.  .  .  .  He  has  the  life,  the  beauty,  the 
heart  and  the  soul  of  Italy  at  the  tips  of  his  fingers."  —  Los  Angeles  Ex- 
Press. 

"  Admirably  strong  and  impressive."  —  Boston  Beacon. 

"  From  all  points  of  view  '  Casa  Braccio '  is  the  most  artistically  finished, 
dramatic,  and  powerful  work  Mr.  Crawford  has  produced."  —  New  York 
World. 

"  The  people  who  are  fond  of  prating  about  the  thinness  of  American 
novels  should  re;i  I  '  Casa  Braccio,'  for  it  is  rich  in  all  the  (jnalitics  that  go  to 
make  u^  a  good  story.  ...  It  is  safe  to  say  that  any  one  who  reads  one  or 
two  of  Crawf'^rd's  r.tories  will  extend  his  ac  i| nintance  with  this  singularly 
versatile  and  charming  writer."  —  Sa)i  Francisco  Chronicle. 


i 


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66    FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW   YORK. 


The  Ralstons, 


A  Sequel  to  "  Katharine  Lauderdale." 


BY 


F.  M4RI0N  CRAWFORD. 


2  vx)ls.     i6mo.     Cloth.     $2.00. 


PRESS    COMMENTS. 

"The  interest  is  unflaggini:  throughout.  Never  has  the  author  done 
more  brilliant,  artistic  work  than  here."      Ohuy  State  Journal. 

"It  is  immensely  entertaininu;  once  in  the  full  swing  of  the  narrative, 
one  is  carried  on  quite  irresistibly  to  the  end.  The  style  throughout  is  easy 
and  graceful,  and  the  text  abounds  in  wise  and  witty  reflections  on  the 
realities  of  existence."  —  iJost  ui  Heacon. 

"  The  book  is  admirably  written;  it  contains  passages  full  of  distinction; 
it  is  instinct  with  intensity  of  purpose;  the  characters  are  drawn  with  a  liv- 
ing touch."  —  Lone/on  Daily  News. 

"Mr.  Crawford's  new  story,  'The  Ralstons,'  is  as  powerful  a  work  as 
any  that  has  come  from  his  pen.  .  .  .  Harmonized  by  a  strength  and 
warmth  of  imagination  tnicommon  in  modern  fiction,  the  story  will  be  heartily 
enjoyed  by  every  one  who  reads  n." ~  Eih'ulutri^h  Scotsman.. 

"  As  a  nicture  of  a  certain  kind  of  New  York  life,  it  is  correct  and  literal; 
as  a  study  of  human  nature,  it  is  realistic  enougli  to  be  modern,  and  roman- 
tic enough  to  be  of  the  age  of  Trollope."-r///(Vf^'>'  Herald. 

"The  whole  group  of  character  studies  is  strong  and  vivid."  —  Literary 
World. 

"  Mr.  Crawford's  pen  portraits  are  wonderfully  vivid.  His  analysis  of 
motive  is  keen  and  subtle.  His  portrayal  of  passion,  be  it  love  or  avarice, 
is  most  graphic."  —  /A».\7('/;  .idvertiser. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY, 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


i'i''     1 


UNIFORM    EDITION 


OF  THE  WORKS  OF 


F.   MARION    CRAWFORD. 


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» • » 


KATHARINE    LAUDERDALE. 

The  first  of  a  series  of  novels  dealing  with  New  York  life. 

"  Mr.  Crawford  at  his  best  is  a  great  novelist,  and  in  '  Katharine  Lauder- 
dale' we  have  him  art  his  best."  —  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  A  most  admirable  novel,  excellent  in  style,  flashing  with  humor,  and 
full  of  the  ripest  and  wisest  reflections  upon  men  and  women." —  The  West- 
miuster  Gazette. 

"  It  is  the  first  time,  we  think,  in  Amepcan  fiction  that  any  such  breadth 
of  view  has  shown  itself  in  the  study  of  our  social  framework."  —  Life. 

"  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  the  story  is  skilfully  and  picturesquely 
written,  portraying  sharply  individual  characters  in  well-defined  surround- 
ings." —  Nc7u  York  Commercial  Aih<ertiser. 

"  *  Katharine  Lauderdale '  is  a  tale  of  New  V'ork,  and  is  up  to  the  highest 
level  of  his  work.  In  some  respects  it  will  probably  be  regarded  as  his  best. 
None  of  his  works,  with  the  exception  of  '  Mr.  Isaacs,'  shows  so  clearly  his 
skill  as  a  literary  artist."  —  San  Francisco  Evening  Bulletin. 


PIETRO    GHISLERI. 

"The  imaginative  richness,  the  marvellous  ingenuity  of  plot,  the  power 
and  subtlety  of  the  portrayal  of  cliaractcr,  the  charm  of  the  romantic  envi- 
ronment,—  the  entire  atmosphere,  iudccd,  —  rank  this  novel  at  once  among 
the  great  creations."  —  The  Boston  Budget. 


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SARACINESCA. 


"His  highest  achievement,  as  yet,  in  the  realms  of  fiction.  The  work 
has  two  distinct  merits,  either  of  which  would  serve  to  make  it  great,  —  that 
or  telling  a  perfect  story  in  a  perfect  way,  and  of  giving  a  graphic  picture 
of  Roman  society  in  the  last  days  of  the  pope's  temporal  power.  .  .  .  The 
story  is  exquisitely  told."  —  Boston  Traveler. 

"One  of  the  most  engrossing  novels  we  have  ever  read."  —  Boston 
Times. 


SANT'    ILARIO. 

A  sequel  to  "Saracinesca." 

"  The  author  shows  steady  and  constant  improvement  in  his  art.  '  Sant' 
Ilario '  is  a  continuation  of  the  chronicles  of  the  Saracinesca  family.  .  .  . 
A  singularly  powerful  and  beautiful  story.  .  .  .  Admirably  developed, 
with  a  naturalness  beyond  praise.  .  .  ,  It  must  rank  with  '  Greifenstein  '  as 
the  best  work  the  author  has  produced.  It  fulfils  every  requirement  of 
artistic  fiction.  It  brings  out  what  is  most  impressive  in  human  action, 
without  owing  any  of  its  efll'ectiveness  to  sensationalism  or  artifice.  It  is 
natural,  fluent  in  evolution,  accordant  with  experience,  graphic  in  descrip- 
tion, penetrating  in  analysis,  and  absorbing  in  interest."  —  New  York 
Tribune. 


DON    ORSINO. 

A  continuation  of  "Saracinesca"  and  "Sanf  Ilario." 

"  The  third  in  a  rather  remarkable  series  of  novels  dealing  with  three 
generations  of  the  Saracinesca  family,  entitled  respectively  '  Saracinesca,' 
*  Sant'  Ilario,'  and  *  Don  Orsino,'  and  these  novels  present  an  important 
study  of  Italian  life,  customs,  and  conditions  during  the  present  century. 
Each  one  of  these  novels  is  worthy  of  very  careful  reading,  and  offers 
exceptional  enjoyment  in  many  ways,  in  the  fascinating  absorption  of  good 
fiction,  in  interest  of  faithful  historic  accuracy,  and  in  charm  of  style.  The 
'  new  Italy  '  is  strikingly  revealed  in  '  Hon  Orsino.'" —  Boston  Ihtdgct. 

"We  are  inclined  to  regard  tlie  book  as  the  most  ingenious  of  all  Mr. 
Crawford's  fictions.  Certainly  it  is  the  best  novel  of  the  season."  —  Even- 
ing Bulletin. 


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WITH  THE  IMMORTALS. 


ir\ 


"  Altogether  an  admirable  piece  of  art  worked  in  the  spirit  of  a  thorough 
artist.  Every  reader  of  cultivated  tastes  will  find  it  a  book  prolific  in  enter- 
tainment of  the  most  refined  description,  and  to  all  such  we  commend  it 
heartily."  —  Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  The  strange  central  idea  of  the  story  could  have  occurred  only  to  a 
writer  whose  muid  was  very  sensitive  to  the  current  modern  thought  and 
progress,  while  its  execution,  the  setting  it  forth  in  proper  literary  clothing, 
could  be  successfully  attempted  only  l)y  one  whose  active  literary  ability 
should  be  fully  equalled  by  his  power  of  assimilative  knowledge  both  literary 
and  scientific,  and  no  less  by  his  courage  and  capacity  for  hard  work.  The 
book  will  be  found  to  have  a  fascination  entirely  new  for  the  habitual  reader 
of  novels.  Indeed,  Mr.  Crawford  has  succeeded  in  taking  his  readers  quite 
above  the  ordinary  plane  of  novel  interest."  —  Boston  Advertiser 


MARZIO'S    CRUCIFIX. 


"  We  take  the  liberty  of  saying  that  this  work  belongs  to  the  highest 
department  of  character-painting  in  words."  —  Churchman. 

*•  We  have  repeatedly  had  occasion  to  say  that  Mr.  Crawford  possesses  in 
an  extraordinary  degree  the  art  of  constructing  a  story.  His  sense  of  pro- 
portion is  just,  and  his  narrative  flows  along  with  ease  and  perspicuity.  It 
IS  as  if  it  could  not  have  been  written  otherwise,  so  naturally  does  the  story 
unfold  itself,  and  so  logical  and  consistent  is  the  sequence  of  incident  after 
incident.  As  a  story  '  Marzio's  Crucifix'  is  perfectly  constructed."  —  New 
York  Commercial  Advertiser. 


KHALED. 

A  Story  of  Arabia. 


"  Throughout  the  fascinating  story  runs  the  subtlest  analysis,  suggested 
rather  than  elaborately  worked  out,  of  human  passion  and  motive,  the  build- 
ing out  and  development  of  the  character  of  the  woman  who  becomes  the 
hero's  wife  and  whose  love  he  finally  wins,  .  eing  an  especially  acute  and 
highly  finished  example  of  the  story-teller's  art.  .  .  .  That  it  is  beautifully 
written  and  holds  the  interest  of  the  reader,  fanciful  as  it  all  is,  to  the  very 
end,  none  who  know  the  depth  and  artistic  finish  of  Mr.  Crawford's  work 
need  be  told." — The  Chicago  Times. 


PAUL    PATOFF. 


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MR.   ISAACS. 


A  Tale  of  Modern  India. 


"  The  writer  first  shows  the  hero  in  rehuion  with  the  people  of  the  East 
and  then  skilfully  brings  into  connection  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  It  is  in 
this  showing  of  the  different  effects  which  the  two  cl;is.-;es  of  minds  have 
upon  the  central  figure  of  the  story  that  one  of  its  chief  merits  lies.  The 
characters  are  original,  and  one  does  not  recognize  any  of  the  hackneyed 
personages  who  are  so  apt  to  be  considered  indispensable  to  novelists,  and 
which,  dressed  in  one  guise  or  another,  are  but  the  marionettes,  which  are 
all  dominated  by  the  same  mind,  mov.  J  by  the  same  motive  force.  The  men 
are  all  endowed  with  individualism  and  independent  life  and  thought.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  strong  tinge  of  mysticism  about  the  book  which  is  one  of  its 
greatest  charms."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"No  story  of  human  experience  that  we  have  met  with  since  'John 
Inglesant'  has  such  an  effect  of  transporting  the  reader  into  regions  differing 
from  hi.s  own.  \  Mr.  Isaacs  '  is  the  best  novel  that  has  ever  laid  its  scenes  in 
our  Indian  dominions." —  The  Daily  News,  London. 


DR.  CLAUDIUS. 

A  True  Story. 


"  There  is  a  suggestion  of  strength,  of  a  mastery  of  facts,  of  a  fund  of 
knowledge,  that  speaks  well  for  future  production.  ...  To  be  thoroughly 
enjoyed,  however,  this  book  must  be  read,  as  no  mere  cursory  notice  can 
give  an  adequate  idea  of  its  many  interesting  points  and  excellences,  for 
without  a  doubt  '  Dr.  Claudius'  is  the  most  interesting  book  that  has  b-^en 
published  for  many  months,  and  richly  deserves  a  high  place  in  the  public 
favor."  —  St.  Louis  Spectator. 

"  To  our  mind  it  by  no  means  belies  the  promises  of  its  predecessor. 
The  story,  an  exceedingly  improbable  and  romantic  one,  is  told  with  much 
skill;  the  characters  are  strongly  miirked  without  any  suspicion  of  carica- 
ture, and  the  author's  ideas  on  social  and  political  subjects  are  often  brilliant 
and  always  striking.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  there  is  not  a  dull 
page  in  the  book,  which  is  peculiarly  adapted  for  the  recreation  of  student  or 
thinker."  —  Living  Church. 


TO    LEEWARD. 


"  A  story  of  remarkable  power."  —  ReTiiew  of  Reviews. 

"  Mr.  Crawford  has  written  many  strange  anil  powerful  stories  of  Italian 
life,  but  none  can  be  any  stranger  or  more  powerful  than  '  To  Leeward,'  v, ith 
its  mixture  of  comedy  and  tragedy,  innocence  and  guilt." — Cottage 
Hearth, 


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A    CIGARETTE-MAKER'S    ROMANCE. 

"  It  is  a  touching  romance,  filled  with  scenes  of  great  dramatic  power." 
—  Boston  Commercial  Ihdletin. 

"  It  is  full  of  life  and  movement,  and  is  one  of  the  best  of  Mr.  Crawford's 
books." — B'K^toii  Satnniay  Efou'tig  Cazcttc. 

"The  interest  is  untlagyinu;  throughcut.  Never  has  Mr.  Crawford  done 
more  brilliant  realistic  work  than  here.  I'lit  his  realism  is  only  the  case  and 
cover  for  those  inten.se  feelings  which,  placed  under  no  matter  what  humble 
conditions,  produce  the  most  dramatic  and  the  most  tragic  situations.  .  .  . 
This  is  a  secret  of  genius,  to  take  the  most  coarse  and  common  material,  the 
meanest  surroundings,  the  most  sordid  material  prospects,  and  out  of  the 
vehement  passions  which  sometimes  dominate  all  human  beings  to  build  up 
with  these  poor  elements  scenes  and  passages,  the  dramatic  and  emotional 
power  of  which  at  once  enforce  attention  and  awaken  the  profoundest  inter- 
est."—  New  York  Tribune. 


GREIFENSTtlN. 


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" '  Greifenstein '  is  a  remarkable  novel,  and  while  it  illustrates  once  more 
the  author's  unusual  versatility,  it  also  shows  that  he  has  not  been  tempted 
into  careless  writing  by  the  vogue  of  his  earlier  books,.  .  .  .  There  is 
nothing  weak  or  small  or  frivolous  in  the  story.  The  author  deals  with 
tremendous  passions  working  at  the  height  of  their  ener",y.  His  characters 
are  stern,  rugged,  determined  men  and  women,  governed  by  powerful  preju- 
dices and  iron  conventions,  types  of  a  military  people,  in  whom  the  sense  of 
duty  has  been  cultivated  until  it  dominates  all  other  motives,  and  in  whom 
the  principle  of  '  noblesse  oblige '  is,  so  far  as  the  aristocratic  class  is  con- 
cerned, the  fundamental  rule  of  conduct.  What  such  people  may  be  capable 
of  is  startlingly  shown."  —  New  York  Tribune. 


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A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

"One  of  Mr.  Crawford's  most  charming  stories  —  a  love  romance  pure 
and  simple." —  Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  '  A  Roman  Singei '  is  one  of  his  most  finished,  compact,  and  successful 
stories,  and  contains  a  splendid  picture  of  Italian  life." —  Toronto  Mail. 


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THE  THREE   FATES. 

"  The  strength  of  the  story  lies  in  its  portrayal  of  the  aspirations,  dis- 
Cipi.nary  efforts,  trials,  and  triumphs  of  the  man  who  is  a  horn  writer,  and 
who,  by  long  and  painful  experiences,  learns  the  good  that  is  in  him  and  the 
way  in  which  to  give  it  effectual  expressi(,n.  The  analytical  quality  of  the 
book  is  excellent,  and  the  individuality  of  each  one  of  the  very  dissimilar 
three  fates  is  set  forth  in  an  entirely  s:itisfaciory  manner.  .  .  .  Mr.  Craw- 
ford has  manifestly  brought  his  best  qualities  as  a  student  of  human  nature 
and  his  finest  resources  as  a  master  of  an  original  and  picturesque  style  to 
bear  upon  this  story.  Taken  for  all  in  ail  it  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
of  all  his  productions  in  fiction,  and  it  affords  a  view  of  certain  phases  of 
American,  or  perhaps  we  should  say  of  New  York,  life  that  have  not  hitherto 
been  treated  with  anything  like  the  same  adequacy  and  icVicity."  —  Bos  ion 
Beacon. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE   KING. 

A  Tale  of  Southern  Italy. 

"  A  sympathetic  reader  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  dramatic 
power  of  this  story  The  simplicity  of  nature,  the  uncorrupted  truth  of  a 
soul,  have  been  portrayed  by  a  master-hand.  The  suddenness  of  the  unfore- 
seen tragedy  at  the  last  renders  the  incident  of  the  story  powerfid  beyond 
ciescription.  One  can  only  feel  such  sensations  as  the  last  si  ene  of  the  story 
incites.  It  may  be  added  that  if  Mr.  Crawford  has  written  some  stories 
unevenly,  he  has  made  no  mistakes  in  the  stories  of  Italian  life.  A  reader 
of  them  cannot  fail  to  gain  a  clearer,  fnlh'r  ac(inaintance  with  the  Italians 
and  the  artistic  spirit  tliat  pervades  t'ne  country."— M.  L.  H.  in  Syracuse 
Journal. 


THE  WITCH   OF   PRAGUE. 

A  Fantastic  Tale. 
Illustrated  \\\  W.  J.  Hknnessy. 

" '  The  Witch  of  Prague '  is  so  remarkable  a  book  as  to  be  certain  of  as 
wide  a  popularity  as  any  of  its  predecessors  T'he  keenest  interest  for  most 
readers  will  lie  in  its  demonstration  of  the  latest  revelations  of  hypnotic 
science.  ...  It  is  a  romance  of  singular  daring  and  power." — LonJon 
Academy. 

"  .Mr.  Crawford  has  written  in  many  keys,  but  never  in  so  strange  a  one 
as  that  which  dominates  '  The  Witch  ol  Prague.'  .  .  .  The  artistic  skill 
with  which  this  extraordinary  story  is  constructed  anil  i-arrie  i  out  is  admira- 
ble and  delightful.  .  .  .  Mr.  Crawfud  has  scored  a  deciiied  triumph,  for 
the  interest  of  the  tale  is  sustained  throtighout.  ...  k  very  remarkable, 
powerful,  and  interesting  stor^ ."  —  New  York  Tribune. 


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ZOROASTER. 


"The  field  of  Mr.  O.nwford's  imagination  appears  to  be  unbounded.  .  .  , 
In  'Zoroaster'  Mr.  Crawford's  winged  fancy  ventures  a  daring  fliyht. 
.  .  .  Yet  'Zoroaster'  is  a  novel  ntlier  tl.an  a  drama.  It  is  a  drama  ii.  the 
force  of  its  situations  and  in  the  poetry  and  dij^nity  of  its  language;  but  its 
men  and  women  are  not  men  and  women  of  a  play.  By  the  naturalness  oi 
their  conversation  and  behavior  they  seem  to  live  and  lay  hold  of  our  human 
sympathy  more  than  the  same  characters  on  a  stage  could  possibly  do." 
—  The  Times. 

A  TALE  OF  A  LONELY  PARISH. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  have  anything  so  perfect  of  its  kind  as  this  brief  and 
vivid  story.  ...  It  is  doubly  a  success,  being  fidi  of  human  sympathy,  as 
well  as  thoroughly  artistic  in  its  nice  balancing  of  the  unusual  with  the 
commonplace,  the  clever  juxtaposition  of  innocence  and  guilt,  comedy  and 
tragedy,  sunplicity  and  intrigue." — Critic. 

"  Of  all  the  stories  Mr.  Crawford  has    -ritten 
most  finisher'     he  most  compact.   .       .      ;   >  ■  t:i. 
after  the  stoiy   is  finished  is  e;.    ciiy  what    liic 
novelist  intends.  ...     It  has  no  defects,     it   I 


It  is  a  work  of  art.     It  is  perfect."  —  Bo  Aon  IhiicoH, 


•;  is  t  'e  most  drrmatic,  the 

V     ic    is  left  in  one's  miiid 

fine  .erider  desires  and  the 

'ther  trifling  nor  trivial. 


MARION  DARCHE. 

"  Full  enough  of  incident  to  have  furnished  material  for  three  or  four 
stories.  ...  A  most  interesting  and  engrossing  book.  Every  page  unfolds 
new  possibilities,  and  the  incidents  multiply  rapidly."  —  Detroit  Free  J'ress. 

*'  We  are  disposed  to  rank  '  Marion  I  tarche  '  as  the  best  of  Mr.  Crawford's 
American  stories." —  T/ie  Literary  World. 


AN  AMERICAN  POLITICIAN. 


THE  NOVEL :    "What  It  Is. 

i8mo.    Cloth.    75  Cents. 

"  When  a  master  of  his  craft  speaks,  the  public  may  well  listen  with  care- 
ful attention,  and  since  no  fiction-writer  of  the  day  enjoys  in  this  country  a 
broader  or  more  enlightened  popidarity  than  Marion  Crawford,  his  explana- 
tion of  The  Novel:  What  It  Is,'  will  be  rccnvcd  with  flattering  interest."  — 
The  Boston  Beacon. 


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